


A Gentleman of Garlemald

by Sforzie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Canonical Character Death, Desk Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Garleans (Final Fantasy XIV), Garleans definitely give weapons as courting gifts, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Heavensward AU Plot, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Varis needs to get laid okay, really just working down the places to have sex checklist, very enthusiastic consent after chapter 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 141,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sforzie/pseuds/Sforzie
Summary: DuringHeavensward, the Warrior of Light is captured in the Sea of Clouds, and finds herself at the Emperor's mercy.Varis zos Galvus is far more merciful than she has been led to believe.---Bonus Chapter 20 summary update:"The Emperor of Garlemald falls in love with the Warrior of Light, circa lateHeavensward"==WINNER of the June 2020 “Oh Fury Why is this So Soft and Fluffy??” Award==(Just kidding I made that up. Or did I?)
Relationships: Varis zos Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 269
Kudos: 409





	1. Chapter 1

The faint hum of functioning machina meets her ears as the darkness and silence retreat from her senses. She cracks her eyes open, but her head aches in protest at the motion and she squeezes them shut again. Her body feels heavy, slightly sluggish, and is slow to move. When she dares to peek again, her vision confirms what the growing dread in her stomach is trying to tell her: She is on an Imperial vessel. The blacks and greys and metallic accents all but confirm this.

She sighs and rubs the heels of her palms against her eyes. This has been a very bad day for the Warrior of Light.

A few bells pass as she lies on the small, uncomfortable bed. She stares at the ceiling--black and featureless, aside from a few recessed lights. The Warrior tries to remember what happened to her, how she could possibly have been so careless as to have ended up in Garlean custody, but it is too difficult to dwell on the subject for long without her head aching. So she settles for just staring, thoughts empty, until the heaviness leaves her body and she feels well enough to risk sitting up.

She does so, waits a few minutes, and the world does not turn upside down in her head. The overhead lights flicker into a dim activity after she sits up. She looks around the small cell. There is the bed, and a small table bolted to the floor. Nothing sits on the table, and the Warrior wishes that her captors had at least had the decency to leave her a glass of water. They didn’t do that, but she supposes that the Garleans would consider a glass of water a potential weapon in the hands of Eorzea’s greatest champion.

They wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

The Warrior gives herself a quick once-over. Her body still smarts painfully in places from her earlier battles. She has been stripped of almost everything--her combat gear, her linkpearl, her weapons, and her pack are all absent. Her attire has been reduced to her smallclothes and the thin linen tunic and trousers she had been wearing under her armored coat. It is bothersome and degrading, but she chooses to be grateful that she was left with at least this much of her decency retained.

She rubs her forehead, still certain that she is forgetting something. 

She has scarcely finished her personal inventory when the door to her cell beeps twice. Her eyes immediately go to the source of the sound. The door slides open, and an armed soldier stands there, pointing a gunblade at her face. The Warrior tenses in alarm, but does not move. Blessed by the Light as she may be, she lacks the confidence in any ability to punch a bullet out of the air.

“That will not be necessary,” a low voice says from behind the soldier. Her ears focus on the man’s voice, as it is vaguely familiar to her. The soldier lowers their weapon, salutes, and steps out of the doorway. What replaces them might be a more terrible sight--that of a massive form of red and black and golden horns.

Emperor Varis zos Galvus occupies the doorway, squinting down at her, a victorious smirk lingering on his thin lips before he speaks. The Emperor gestures at the soldier, who departs, and steps into the cell. The door slides shut behind him, and he idly taps a code into the adjacent panel. There is a barely audible click as the door lock activates.

“Ah,” the Emperor says, voice a confident purr. “The Warrior of Light has indeed awakened.”

“Emperor Varis.” She stares up at him, a dull sense of horror picking at her weary brain. “What is going on?”

“Exactly what it looks like, Warrior. I have taken you as my prisoner.” He gestures around the small room. “I even made sure you were placed in one of the better holding cells. Fair treatment for a war criminal, wouldn’t you agree?”

“How kind of you,” she says, her rising anxiety rendering her unable to suppress her sarcasm. Looking around the cell a second time, she sees they are alone, and realizes what has been nagging at the back of her mind. “Alphinaud! What have you done with him?”

“The little Elezen boy? He was left unconscious with the beastmen.” Varis tilts his head to the side and squints down at her. “I don’t suppose that they will eat him, do you? I have not been given full reports on the nature of their kind.”

She frowns. “Such careless behavior is unbefitting an emperor.”

“I care not what happens to the boy. He is not a subject of Garlemald.” A smirk. “Not yet, at least. Everything in due time.”

The Warrior slides off the bed, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She regrets it a bit. Her feet are bare and the floor is uncomfortably cold. Still, she does her best to put up a brave front as the Emperor moves within striking range. What is he going to do to her? Why is she even here? How the hells can she escape? Teleportation will be difficult without the aetheric focus in one of her weapons.

The corner of Varis’ mouth quirks upwards.

“I know what you are thinking,” he says, golden eyes intent on her face. “You are considering your escape. And I will tell you, as an act of good faith: There is nothing keeping you here right now. Our shielding keeps magic out, not in. Your weapons and kit are in a storeroom three doors down the hall on the right. The guards have been instructed to leave you go in peace. ”

She frowns at him, suspicious of every word that passes through his lips. “Why?”

“I had you captured as a matter of curiosity.” He smirks anew, but there is no mirth in the expression. “What manner of beast is the champion of the savages? Is she even something to be concerned over?” He looms in closer, big hand catching her chin and tilting her head back. “Reports from various agents in the field think so. My late grandsire certainly seemed to think so.”

“Your--what? The Emperor?”

“Indeed.” He loosens his grasp but does not move his hand away. “In his final weeks, Grandfather did not speak much aloud. He took to scribbling out notes to express his desires. And when asked what he wished done about you, about the meddlesome Warrior of Light, all His Radiance would write was ‘Do Not Kill Her’.” Now Varis frowns, his already stiff countenance turning cold. “Why?”

She swallows, trying to keep her unease from her face. “I do not know. I never met the man. Aside from his probable stature and raiment, I would not know him were I to pass him on the street.”

The frown lingers, and he grouses softly, more to himself than her. “He cut a very particular figure. You would have known him.” Now the Emperor releases his grip and takes a step backward. “I see nothing noteworthy about you. Just a pretty face with an unearned Gift.”

She looks up at him, a massive wall of flesh and armor, and then to the door of her cell. “You did not need to go to such lengths to ask me so pointless a question.”

“That is not for you to judge,” he says. “You are free to go; I did not lie. However, I would not suggest being so quick on your feet just yet.” At a noise of protest from her, Varis quietly tugs the gauntlet from his right hand and tosses it to the floor. His bared fingers grab at her left elbow before sliding his hand up and pushing at the sleeve of her tunic.

“Stop--” She hisses in pain as his fingers find a tender spot on the back of her upper arm. She twists in his grip, eyes catching sight of a bruising mark just under where he is grasping.

“The technicians said it took a great deal of tranquilizer to subdue you,” Varis says in a dispassionate tone. “It must be one of your blessings, per their assessment.” He sneers for a moment before releasing his hold. “That being said, we do not know how long it will take to work out of your system, and I doubt that your allies will know what to do with you should you become unconscious while under their care.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmurs to herself. “I think they’re rather used to me passing out by now.”

Varis does not acknowledge this, and instead says: “I have had the men responsible for your dosage properly reprimanded. They should have known better than to be so careless with such a valuable captive.”

She rubs at the sore spot on her arm. “You’re the one who had me apprehended.”

“Indeed. And I expect my orders to be followed with proper care.”

She considers her options. Escape is certainly her main priority, but the lingering tranquilizers in her bloodstream make her wary of trying to teleport somewhere without a reference to her present location. Besides, getting back to her allies in a hurry will only give her strength in numbers. The _Enterprise_ is still being repaired, and despite Varis’ words, she is certain an Imperial recourse will follow her escape and endanger both the repair efforts and the lives of her friends.

Varis is watching her, eyes gleaming in the artificial lighting. The concentration of his gaze is unnerving.

“What?” she snaps at him.

“Something troubles you. Beyond your present situation, I mean.” He leans down to better peer into her eyes. “When we met earlier, I saw it in your eyes then. And it was written on the boy’s face as well. Something was already upsetting you, beyond the fate of the beastmen. Might I ask what?”

She leans away from him. “Not that it’s particularly any of your business, but we lost a friend very recently. He was a knight, and he died saving me.”

Varis considers her answer. “Ah. Yes. That is the expression. The raw sadness and guilt of a survivor.”

She looks away with a grimace. “As I said: it isn’t any of your business.”

His bare hand reaches to brush through her hair. The gentleness of the touch is unexpected, and catches her off-guard. She looks up, and finds his golden eyes still focused on her, and his face far closer than she recalled it being a moment before.

“You are a fascinating woman to watch, Warrior. A lovely young maiden, who should be filling her head with thoughts of family, instead being forced over and over to save the star. And it shows, even though you struggle so valiantly to put on that indifferent, heroic visage.”

“Ah-” She is quieted by his thumb pressing against her lower lip.

“When was the last time you were appreciated, not as the Warrior of Light, but as a woman?”

Heat springs to her cheeks and she looks away, rattled by the Emperor’s boldness. The tranquilizers make her head feel heavy, and she does not know how to respond to his query.

“That long?” he says after a protracted silence. “I should like to aid you with that, Warrior.”

She jerks away, a scandalized noise escaping her throat, and she has to resist the urge to snap her teeth at the thumb that hovers too close to her face. “How dare you! Is this what the Empire does with all of its prisoners?”

“No,” he says, lingering still within her comfort zone. “In his later decades, my grandsire came to disapprove of the violent taking of such spoils of war, and forbade such behavior amongst his Legions.”

She frowns, thinking of all the horrible stories of the Empire’s expansive behavior that she has heard. “And you really believe that they follow that rule?”

He meets her gaze. If he is irritated by her retort, it does not reach his face. “Perhaps not. However, when I was High Legatus, I made sure the Legion under my command strictly followed Emperor Solus’ orders.”

“Why?”

Varis angles in close enough for her to smell his breath--coffee and some variety of fruity sweetness--and speaks slowly. “Because we are not savages, Warrior of Light. We are the rulers of the world, and it is our duty to lead by example.”

The Warrior grits her teeth. “I have seen plenty of that example, and I cannot say that it is anything I would aspire to take pride in.”

“Perhaps not. It has never been said that the face of war was attractive.” Varis looks away as a displeased grunt escapes him. “Though my grandsire was a vain man and quite prideful of the many admirers he had in his younger years.”

“Jealous?”

“Hardly. Such peacocking does not behoove a ruler.” He remains close, and she is uncomfortably aware of the keep-away spike on the front of his armor. Any closer, and she could easily be impaled upon the ugly thing. “Surely the Warrior of Light must have a great deal of admirers?”

She presses a hand to his chest, hoping to create a more comfortable distance between them. The effort fails--the Emperor does not budge, and she can move no further away without falling back on the bed.

“Indeed, there are… a fair amount of men and women who have expressed a desire for me, to thank me for my deeds, or to simply be able to say they have touched a hero.” The Warrior swallows and closes her eyes. She thinks of the Knight, newly dead for her sake. “But, I prefer to keep my distance. Such casual intimacy is only good as a potential source of grief.”

“I am not interested in emotional intimacy, if that is your concern. And I will not harm you.”

She swallows, looking up at the giant and seeing the gradual darkening of his eyes. “Why would you even be interested in such a thing?”

He smirks, and there is a hint of amusement in his low voice. “Consider it another curiosity.” His bare hand grips lightly at her right arm, and slides up slowly. It nearly reaches her shoulder before she shivers.

She makes a plea to his ego. “You’re the Emperor. You shouldn’t… sully yourself with some lowly savage.”

“I am the Emperor and my word is absolute. And you are the greatest of the savages, Warrior of Light. You are beautiful and powerful and I wish to indulge in that.” His hand moves from her arm, capturing her chin again and brushing his thumb over her lips. “It is a pity you were born as such. I could have found better business for you in Garlemald.”

Her cheeks flush as she catches his meaning. “You’ve waited this long to look for a mistress?”

His armor clinks softly as he shrugs. “I have spent most of my adult years being very preoccupied with getting to where I am now. I have not had time for such pleasantries.” He leans in closer. “And what good is an Emperor without a powerful woman at his back? Even my grandsire kept that image up for a few decades.”

The Warrior takes his hand and pushes it from her face. “If you just want to bed me, then be upfront and say so. I don’t have the patience for games.”

Varis stares at her to the point of her discomfort, and then nods. “I do.” He looks at her hand, at her grip on his wrist, if it can be called such a thing when her fingers cannot meet on the other side. “I will not force you, Warrior.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because,” he says in an airy tone. “I am a gentleman of Garlemald.”

It takes effort to hold back a doubtful snort. “Fine. But if you hurt me, there will be at least a dozen people I can think of that will be wanting your head removed from your neck.”

“I can think of many more than that small a number that wish the same,” Varis says. He smoothly tugs his hand free. “But, I will keep that in mind.”

She does not have much clothing to remove, and insists upon doing this herself. The Emperor steps a few fulms back, removing his other gauntlet while she strips from her linens and smallclothes. He has more to remove, but parts with less. The belt and tabard go off, cast to the floor. Varis removes his breastplate with its unwieldy spike, and sets it on the floor next to the rest of his effects with a bit more care. Last to go is the crown.

“Is it as heavy as it looks?” she wonders idly as she sits on the edge of the bed.

“Yes. My neck has ached since I first put it on, but I am getting used to it.” 

She looks up at the small red mark the crown has left on his forehead, then past to his hair. It is fine and pale, and flutters lightly with his movements. The thought escapes her lips unbidden: “Your hair is beautiful.”

The Emperor blinks. “Thank you.”

“Can I touch it?”

He considers, and then gives her a playful smirk. “Perhaps, if you’re a good girl.”

She watches as he opens a flap that would normally be hidden by his tabard and frees his member. It is half engorged but already intimidating. She swallows, not sure how much of that she will be able to handle, but too proud to back down from a big dick. 

Varis returns to the side of the bed. The metal of his greave is cool against her skin as his knee presses between her own. She lets out a shaky gasp, the full realization of what she is getting herself into strikes her and floods her core with warmth. 

His skin, released from his gauntlets, is as pale as snow, and his hands bury her flesh under the sudden blizzard of his touch. His fingertips trace down her front, pausing at her bosom. His hands easily encompass each breast. She licks her lips as he kneads at her soft flesh, his thumbs flexing to tease at her nipples, the peaks already sensitive in the chill of the room. The touch alone is enough to make her squirm. Too soon, his hands continue southward, stopping only to claim her hips in his grasp.

“Lie back and relax,” Varis says, voice a low rumble. She does as he commands, and his hands remain on her hips, lifting her slightly as she gets to a more comfortable position on the bed. A thin smile lingers while he watches her, and when she stops moving he whispers: “Good?”

She starts to nod, but then flusters and covers her face with her palms.

Varis freezes in place. “What is the matter?”

“I just--” An embarrassed laugh flutters past her lips. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m getting… stage fright? I’ve never been with someone as important an emperor before.”

His thumbs trace a small, consoling circle along her skin. “Then, I must be sure not to disappoint.” The movement pauses. “Unless you would wish to stop?”

She considers his offer and peers at him through her fingers. Varis is watching her, gold eyes dark with desire, his cock harder and mirroring his interest.

“It would be cruel of me to stop now.”

The gentleness of his husky voice surprises her. “No more than it would be for me to insist otherwise.”

“I--” She stalls and thinks. “Keep going. But start with your hands.”

“Of course,” he says, sounding vaguely amused. “I am not some overzealous young man at a pleasure house.”

The Warrior slides her hands down her face. “Okay.” She still feels nervous, and rests her loosely fisted hands on her chest.

The Emperor looks her over, and then mutters under his breath about military beds being set too low. He carefully settles himself on his knees before her, red cape flaring out behind him as he arranges himself. He is still taller than any man has business being, and is looking down at her as he returns his hands to her skin. A hand rests on each knee and gently pushes them apart. His left hand lingers firmly on her thigh. She watches as he brings his right hand to his mouth and licks at his fingertips. 

She bites her lower lip as the tip of his pointer finger teases where her thighs meet, rubbing along her clit before sliding forth to penetrate her. His finger is large, like the rest of him, and even this contact is enough to send a jolt through her body. She squirms, toes curling against the cold floor. “Oh!”

Varis is smirking as his finger slowly thrusts into her. “My, have you truly been left unattended for so long? ‘Tis only my finger.”

She stutters out a “shut up!” before gasping as he slides a second finger in alongside the first. Her hips jerk against his hand as he continues his languid thrusts, fingers flexing inside her. Just the two thick fingers are more than she’s had inside her before, and her hands drop from her breasts to grab at his hand and hold it in place as she grinds against them.

“Oh, by the Tw-ah!” She gasps as his fingertips curl and find the sensitive spot inside her. The Warrior manages to look to his face long enough to see his expression, a particular mixture of amusement and lust, and then squeezes her eyes shut. “More!”

He lets out a soft humm of acknowledgement before the ring finger joins the first two. She grits her teeth as it presses into her, feeling the slightly uncomfortable stretch. His fingers resume their thrusting, and she squeezes around them. His free hand slips from her thigh to grasp at himself, fingers working to draw out the last bits of hardness. Varis leans over her, pressing his lips to her left hip before nipping lightly.

“I am ready when you are, Warrior,” he purrs. Her nails dig into the pale skin on the back of his hand in anticipation of what is to follow.

“Ah, just keep--give me a minute!”

There is another light dragging of his teeth against her skin. “Take your time.”

She continues rutting against his hand, trembling each time his fingertips press into that hungry spot inside of her. Finally the tension that has been building up in her thighs snaps, and her hips jerk roughly as she comes.

He is silent as she lays panting, catching her breath, waiting for the pounding in her temples to ebb before daring to open her eyes. He is still watching her when she does.

“The Warrior’s strength is impressive,” he commends. She manages to unclench her fingers and release her grip on his hand. Her fingertips have left a small set of bruises on his pale skin.

A shaky laugh escapes her. “We-we can continue now.”

“Good.” The Emperor rises smoothly to his feet, the metallic squeaking of his greaves and boots the only indication of his movement below. She looks up at him and breathlessly smiles at the pink coloring his cheeks. He smiles back. She watches as he takes his fingers and smears her wetness over the tip of his cock to mix it in with the fluid that has already gathered there. She wants to reach out and touch him, curious of what the heft of it would feel like in her hands, but she keeps those same hands politely at her sides, fingers tensing in the bedcovers as he positions himself between her knees. 

“Relax,” he says, the word a subtle command despite the lust in his voice.

She nods, settling back on the thin covers. She tries to relax, she does, but her body still tingles from her orgasm, and she hopes that he will give her another.

Varis presses her knees a bit further apart. His weight shifts forward, making the bed creak slightly, and she feels the slickened head of his cock tease along her folds. His thick fingers have already stretched her enough that the tip finding her slit is not as daunting as it could have been. Still, a soft noise escapes her as the head enters her. Varis stills overhead, exhaling softly. She reaches and swats lightly at his forearm.

She gasps out: “Don’t stop!”

So he continues, sliding in an ilm at a time, letting her adjust to his girth. He bottoms out in her just as the last of his thick shaft disappears from sight. A faint noise of surprise escapes both of them at this, as though neither had expected for him to fit. She lets out a shaky breath, realizes that she has curled her toes tightly and forces them to relax. He is watching, waiting for a go-ahead. She stares up at him, impressed by his restraint.

She whispers: “Okay.”

The Garlean at rest and in motion are two very different things. Varis rolls his hips in slow thrusts, and the Warrior is uncertain if she will ever be able to acclimate herself to the steady cycle of feeling empty and then very, completely full, then empty again. It is far more pleasure than she should expect to be given by any man, let alone her enemy, but she takes what he gives without complaint.

He leans over her, one palm denting the mattress at her shoulder, his face close, gaze never leaving hers. He is careful, observant of her reactions as his pace increases. There is less and less emptiness, more fullness, more _him_. She feels greedy, wants more, flexes her legs to hook her ankles along his sides. He seems to silently understand what she wants, and buries himself in her. She lets out a blissful noise as he grinds into her, their bodies close enough that she can feel the thick fabric of his trousers rubbing against her thighs. The sensation is almost enough to make her growl in protest when he continues thrusting. 

Instead she moans, clings to him, her fingers struggling to find purchase on his armored shoulders. She settles for grabbing a handful of his lovely hair and tugging it, and delights in his little gasp of pain as her fingers slip through the luxuriant softness and grab again at his shoulder. He leans in, gives a scolding nip to the base of her throat, and pushes in hard. His fingers disappear between the press of their bodies, and she feels them tease at the point where they are joined. His fingertips are rough against her clit, moving in tandem with the grinding motion of his hips.

She wants more, but it is already too much. A scream fails to escape her throat as she comes a second time, body trembling through the broken tension, muscles clenching around him, trying to pull him over the precipice with her.

As in any other battle, the Empire falls before her.

Varis groans and pushes her away, perhaps a bit too harshly, and withdraws from her just before his own orgasm hits. His release splashes against her abdomen in a pearlescent stream. The Warrior flops back into the covers, body tingling.

“Oh--thank you--I---” She manages around her panting breaths. “I didn’t…”

Varis is still breathless, but manages to sound playfully chiding. “Now, now, Warrior. I have already just bedded my nation’s greatest enemy. I do not need to invite any further trouble tonight.”

He stoops over her and drags his tongue along her belly. She squirms and tries not to laugh.

“Ah--ah, stop--Varis that tickles!”

His eyes are bright as he sights up the line of her torso. “Unless you would rather sleep with my seed on your skin, you will let me clean you up.”

“As you would wish, _Your Radiance_.” She muffles a giggle as he licks her clean.

When he is done, he leans back and settles his weight on his heels. The Warrior looks up at him.

“I’m sorry, I messed your hair up a bit.”

He grunts softly and brushes the stray platinum lock over his shoulder. “‘Tis late, no one will notice. Nor will they say anything if they do.”

They sit and watch each other in silence. She can tell that he is getting tired, and is impressed that he has not already passed out on the floor. “Do you need help with your armor?”

He tucks himself back into his dark trousers and shakes his head. “No. I am quite capable of dressing myself, Warrior.”

She says nothing else, just watches as he rises to his feet. He is indeed efficient at returning his armor to its proper places--first tabard, then belt, then breastplate, and gauntlets last. Varis picks up the crown and carefully returns it to his head.

“You look fatigued,” the Emperor says in a carefully disinterested tone. “Get some rest. I will speak with you again, should you not escape beforehand.” There is a twinkle in his eye that makes her blush.

She hugs her knees to her chest as he faces the door. “Sleep well, Lord Varis.”

His hand pauses as it reaches for the door lock. “Good night, Warrior. You do the same.”

**  
  
**

When she awakens, her surroundings are still dark and cold and metallic. A faint hum courses through everything, and after a long moment of consideration she realizes that it is the sound, the vibration caused by the dreadnaught’s engines idling. A heavy blanket has been draped over her nude form, keeping her warm despite the chill of the holding cell. The fabric is soft and nearly plush, and she puzzles at the luxury on a military carrier. They were from Garlemald, she thinks, as much a frozen wasteland as she has recently come to know Ishgard to be. The blanket would have been a valuable commodity in Ishgard, and she supposes that even the brutish Garleans could want for some comfort.

The lights in the cell turn on when she sits up, having tripped some unknown sensor. Her muscles protest as she half stumbles from the bed. Her body is sore, but it is a pleasant sort of ache caused by a different sort of combat. She stoops to reclaim the smallclothes and outerwear the Emperor had stripped from her some hours previous.

 _The Emperor,_ she thinks, and her body jolts with guilt. Here she was, hero of Eorzea, and she had let the leader of their enemy have his way with her. After redressing she sits on the edge of the bed and wraps herself in the blanket. When they ask her about what happened after her capture, she will have to omit that part of the story. And she will _definitely_ have to leave out the part where she had enjoyed it. She thinks she will die if she has to explain such things to Alphinaud, charmingly well meaning and naive as he is. Admitting her actions to the elder Scions would be even more unpleasant. 

The door to the cell beeps, and a somewhat scrawny Garlean man in glasses enters the room. She sees a guard hovering in wait in the doorway.

“Ah, you are awake.” The man offers an apologetic smile and adjusts his glasses. “His Radiance expressed his doubts that you would even still be here, but since your gear remains in storage, he insisted that I check on you.” He holds up a small device. “Nothing intrusive, I promise. We aren’t savages.”

She glares at the technician and does not move.

“This is just to make certain your vitals are normal. Enough of the tranquilizer should be out of your system now to permit proper function.” He clears his throat. “Please don’t attack me. I’m just doing my job.”

Her lack of response seems to only unnerve the technician further, and he hurries to where she remains seated on the bedside. He holds the device to her ear, and after a few seconds it beeps quietly.

“Ah, let’s see. Temperature is within the normal logged range for your race, blood pressure and heart rate look good as well.” He takes a few quick steps to the door. “Yes, good. You’re free to go, then, though His Radiance did request that you at least partake in breakfast before you do so.” He gestures at her. “You may keep the blanket, if it makes you more comfortable. They have to keep things a bit cold to balance out the engine heat.”

She nods at him, feeling a bit puzzled, and gets to her feet.

The technician gestures at the guard in the doorway. “He will show you where to go.”

She lets the guard lead her from the relative security of her holding cell. They go down a long twist of hallways and lifts, and despite her best efforts she quickly loses track of where she is in relation to the cell--and with it her gear and weapons. This alarms her, and all she can do is hope that she will be returned to the holding cell whenever this meal has concluded.

As a prisoner of the Empire, she is not expecting much in what is offered to her. She certainly does not expect to be led to a private dining room where the Emperor himself is preparing to take breakfast. He is not alone. The soldier--legatus, wasn’t it?--she had faced the day previous is standing next to the table, nodding at something the Emperor has said when she enters the room.

“Ah, the Warrior of Light yet stands,” the legatus says in a curiously cheerful tone. “That is good. One less trouble we have to deal with today.” He turns back to the table and crisply salutes the Emperor. “I will relay your orders to the bridge, my Lord.”

“Good,” is all Varis says to the man before he leaves. He rises from his chair and gestures at the other empty seat. “Sit.” For a moment his silvery brows draw together, and he adds: “Please.”

Deciding that it is best to humor her enemy, she moves to the table and sits. It is now that she notices there are two settings placed. The Emperor’s side of the table is somewhat in disarray, the empty plate pushed aside to make room for a collection of papers. Varis himself is not yet fully dressed, lacking the red cape and much of the dark armor. He is minus his crown, as well, and instead has a pair of delicate reading glasses resting on his nose.

“No rest for the wicked, hm?” she says in observation and gestures at the paperwork.

His lips quirk slightly at her jab. “If that is the case, then I must be the most wicked.” Varis sighs faintly and shakes his head. “I have come to understand why Emperor Solus was so preferential to conquest. I do not recommend becoming a ruler if you wish to peacefully avoid an endless stream of paperwork.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He studies her over the rim of his glasses. “How fare you this morning, Warrior?”

She shrugs. “Your technician said I was in good enough condition to leave. Though, when he said you wanted me to have breakfast, I didn’t think he meant with you.”

“Would you have declined the offer were that made more obvious?”

“Maybe.” 

Now he does smile, a wane thing that struggles to find purchase on his face. “I appreciate your sincerity.”

When the food arrives he tells her to eat whatever she likes. Then he fills his plate and is silent as he eats. There is more selection to the food than she expects or knows what to do with--lovely dark bread with a sampling of butter and sweet jams available, sliced meats and cheeses, boiled eggs, pastries, and enough coffee to drown a Lalafell.

His eyes remain on a report while he eats, and she finds comfort in his lack of scrutiny. In return, she tries not to make it too obvious that she is watching him eat. The Emperor consumes what she thinks is an alarming amount of coffee with his meal, but she supposes that it must take a great deal of food and caffeine to keep a man of his massive size and stature going. The food is good, better than camp rations or the tavern fare in Ishgard, and she ends up eating more than she probably should.

“Doesn’t all that paperwork upset your appetite?” she asks once he has cleared his plate a second time.

“I am used to it,” he says. “It is the sort of company I prefer to keep in private.” He glances at her cleared plate. “I trust you found the food acceptable?”

“Oh, yes!” She blushes and leans away from the table. “Sorry. It was very good, yes. Thank you for deigning to share it with a savage.”

“You are welcome.” He pours himself another large cup of coffee. “Morning reports indicate that patrols spotted your allies’ wounded airship, but left it undisturbed.”

“Why?” she wonders.

“Why, indeed?” he muses, but does not conclude the thought.

They sit in silence a few minutes more. She watches the Emperor as he reads another report and finishes the last of his coffee. When it is done, he removes his reading glasses and sets them on the table.

“I presume that you will require assistance returning to your cell,” Varis says.

“Ah--” It is embarrassing to be called out on this, but she forces a meager smile and nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Give me a few minutes, and I will show you the way.” He stands, graceful despite his size. She blinks and looks up at him.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to trouble yourself with that, really. I should have been paying more attention. One of the guards will do just fine.”

“If a guard shall do ‘just fine’, then I should be able to do much better.”

The Warrior shrugs, and fights to hide a grimace at the twinge of pain in her shoulder. “As you wish.”

He taps a thick fingertip on the table--she blushes at the memory of what it feels like inside her--and leans in slightly. “Stay here until I return. It will only be a few minutes.”

She nods, mute, and watches him depart. Her memory of the night before triggers a bit of warmth in her core. Flustered, she presses her knees together. If that is all it takes to get her worked up these days, then perhaps when she returns to Ishgard she should find someone for a bit of regular company. The Lord Commander might do. He has seemed interested in her since their first meeting some months ago, and has been persistent in asking her out for drinks or a meal. He is always very busy, as is she, but it is certainly something to consider once he has recovered from his injuries sustained in the Vault...

As promised, Varis returns to the room after the passing of only five or six minutes. He is properly dressed now, black armor and red cape present and accounted for, though she is surprised that his crown does not scrape at the ceiling when he walks, big as the man is. He holds himself very carefully, which comes off as something begetting of regal poise. She thinks there is something charming about the decorated soldier playing at being a ruler. 

“This way,” he says.

She follows him down the echoing hallway, tucking the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. She feels exposed, trailing down the corridor after her enemy. When they pass soldiers the men and women snap to attention and salute their leader, and many tilt their heads to give the Warrior of Light a curious look as she goes by. She does not have to struggle to keep up with the Emperor, and recognizes that he has checked his pace to match hers.

When they ride a lift down, she feels compelled to offset the silence. “That legatus, the one from earlier. He is your friend, isn’t he.”

Varis shifts his weight to look down at her, and she feels very small under his gaze.

His tone lands somewhere between amusement and curiosity. “What makes you say that?”

“The way he looked at you. The way he spoke to you. It suggested a greater familiarity than just an officer and his commander.”

Varis grunts lowly and returns his gaze to the door. “Very observant. You would make a good spy.”

“I don’t--” She falters, not wanting to upset the man. “Thank you, sir.”

“Legatus Regula van Hydrus.” Varis speaks softly. “And, yes. He is a very good friend of mine. One of the few people I can truly trust on this star. We have been friends since we were but young boys.”

“I see.” She smiles. “It sounds nice.”

The doors to the lift open, and they continue down the hall.

“Does the Warrior of Light not have a bevy of followers at her beck and call? Surely she does. I would not be surprised to hear that the leaders of the Alliance are secretly fearful of you, of your power. The power to overthrow them and unite Eorzea under your own banner.”

She frowns, keeping her eyes on the floor for a moment. Then she says: “What, secretly afraid of me rather than openly like you and the rest of the Empire?”

He muffles a cough behind his closed lips. “That was not my question, Warrior.” She chances to look up at the man, and is surprised to see a faint smile on his lips. It twists back to a reserved scowl as they near another soldier. Varis nods at the man as they pass before returning his attention to his prisoner. “Well?”

“I have close followers who are my allies, yes. Perhaps even friends.” She lets out a soft, regretful sigh. “But no, nothing so intimate as that which you enjoy.” After a moment of thought she asks: “Does your wife ever get jealous of him?”

The Emperor’s frown deepens at the question. “When she yet lived, no. My wife was not jealous of my friendship with Regula. Quite the contrary. She was glad he was there to keep me from over-extending myself. But she is long gone, now.”

“Oh.” She does not bother mumbling any consolations. The Emperor does not strike her as a man who is in need of such things.

They stop at the door to her cell. Varis considers it for a moment.

“Well, then.” The tone of his voice has shifted--he is trying to sound intimidating. “Warrior of Light, should you continue to be a thorn in my side, I very well may have to pass you off to my heir. He should get some entertainment out of you before he cuts your head off.”

That was a strange threat, she thinks. She tries to recall who the Emperor’s son and heir might be, but no news of him has reached her sphere of influence. “Your son, how old is he?”

Varis’ lined brow furrows further, and she is briefly amused by the fact that he doesn’t know offhand. “He had his twenty-sixth nameday not that long ago. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” The prince is close to her in age. “I do not believe that I’ve heard of him before.”

The Emperor sighs very faintly as he keys the door to open. “Consider yourself to be lucky.”

When the door slides open, she is surprised to see her pack resting on the bed next to her gear, and her weapons stowed neatly on the floor nearby. She can feel his gaze on the top of her head.

“The _Gration_ is currently idling in the Sea of Clouds,” he says. “You should be able to safely teleport to any of the aetherytes in the vicinity.”

She murmurs her thanks as she steps into the cell. He lingers in the open doorway, filling the space completely.

“Wait,” he says. “I need your name. For the prisoner logs. Regula insists upon setting a good example to the men.” The strained sincerity in his voice piques her curiosity.

“Oh.” He is watching her intently when she turns to face him. “Is ‘Warrior of Light’ not enough for the records?”

“That is merely your title. Not your name.”

She considers the request, and then gives him her first name. He repeats it, and slowly confirms the spelling.

“That will be sufficient,” Varis says. “Thank you for your cooperation, Warrior. You have been a model prisoner.” The slightly coy turn to his voice gives her pause.

“I assume you would prefer that I don’t destroy anything on the way out.”

He nods. “If you would be so kind.”

She opens her pack and does a quick check of its inventory. Everything looks to be in place, if not a bit jostled, and it does not seem that any of the Imperials have gone through her belongings.

“One more thing, before you go.” The Emperor’s gloved hand extends. Curious, she rights herself and returns to the door. When she holds out her hand, he deposits a small black enameled piece of metal into her palm. It looks like a linkpearl, she thinks.

“What is this for?”

“A communications device. We removed a similar item from your person upon your capture.” He points briefly toward her pack. “It should be in your effects.” The Emperor cups her hand between his own, again making her feel small. “I want you to keep this. We will be in the area, as you well know. Should you be in need of assistance, you can use this to contact the _Gration_.”

She frowns. “Why? Does it have a tracking device in it or something?”

“A limited one,” he admits. “Only good for a quarter malm range. We use it for coordinating troop movements.”

“Why give it to me?”

Varis’ lips pull into a careful smile. “Because, I know a potential ally when I meet her, and I would offer her what assistance I can.” He closes her fingers around the linkpearl. “Of course, you do not have to use it, or even keep it. But, I would give it to you, all the same.”

Part of the Warrior is insulted that her enemy would be so bold as to assume she might call for his aid, but another part is touched by the intended sentiment.

“Thank you, Varis. Let us hope that I don’t need to make use of this.”

Varis nods. “Good. I will be leaving now. I have business to attend to for the day, so I will not be able to stop a prisoner should she attempt an escape.” He releases her hand, and steps away. “Safe travels, Warrior of Light.” He smiles. “Until we meet again.”

**  
  
  
**


	2. Chapter 2

When she is rejoined with the Scions, she is overglad to find that Alphinaud is unharmed. He and the others are similarly joyful for her return. Lucia is contrite--she had arrived in time to prevent the execution of the beastmen, but too late to prevent the Warrior of Light’s capture. When the Warrior tells them that the Emperor let her freely go, they are puzzled. She should be more valuable to them as a prisoner, if for no reason other than to hold her potential execution over the Scions’ heads in order to gain their cooperation.

It is not long before she realizes why Emperor Varis let her go so readily. The Emperor, in his cunning, knew that she needed to return to her allies so that they might handle the problem with the primal Bismark. She took care of the great beast, acquired the lost key, and opened the way to Azys Lla. A brutally efficient plan, on their part. The sacrifice of Shiva would not have figured into their designs, and why would it have? Even with the _Gration_ stopped dead with its engines frozen, their plans would have continued apace.

The Warrior stands on the metal walkways of Azys Lla while Cid surveys the _Enterprise._ The _Gration_ looms in the distance, and she wonders if the Emperor was even present for the engagement. She doubts he was--it would have been foolish for him to have ventured into such dangerous, unknown territory when he had a trusted legatus to do that for him. Still, she stares at the distant dreadnought and wonders. It is easier for her to do this than to dwell on the loss of another ally. Another friend dead so that she might continue forward on her path. She stands and stares and feels uncomfortably helpless.

Her right hand is tucked into a pocket on her hip, and she has palmed the black linkpearl. She has carried it with her since the Emperor pressed it into her hand. It had been a trap, of course. That had to have been how the _Gration_ hounded them so easily. Her fingers close around the device, and she contemplates hurling it into the abyss.

Alphinaud calls to her, his young voice trembling, barely able to contain his sorrow at losing two friends in such short order. She pulls her hand from her pocket and goes to comfort the boy before they continue on their journey.

For a time Azys Lla is left behind by she and the Scions. When a new primal threat arises, they return. The Empire is still there, a few small craft patrolling the area before going back to the unmoving form of the _Gration_. What follows is a rather fraught week or more of cat and mouse, trying to keep the Imperials from getting to the primals before they do. There is not one but three of the ridiculously powerful beasts to deal with this time, each more dangerous than the next. 

She is on a patrol of the area while Unukalhai and Krile and the others study their findings regarding the second primal. The Imperials are scarce today, possibly in reaction to her resounding defeat of the first primal.

“Who goes there?” a voice barks from an above walkway.

Well, mostly scarce. She stops, hand going to her weapon.

“Identify yourself!”

She looks up at the Garlean and feels a pang of recognition. It is the cheerful legatus from the _Gration_. Regula, the Emperor’s best friend. She curses under her breath. Why does it have to be him? Why is he still here? Her fingers twitch near the grip of her weapon.

“Ah, it’s you,” Regula says, voice slightly modulated by his helmet. “I suppose if the Scions of the Seventh Dawn are still nosing about, then I should have expected to find the Warrior of Light as well.” He still sounds vaguely cheerful. “His Radiance will be glad to know that you look well.”

“I--what? Why would Varis ask about me?”

The legatus returns his gunblade to his back. “I do believe he still harbors aspirations to gain the Warrior of Light as an ally. Though, it is not my place to say for certain.”

She looks over her shoulder, not wanting one of her allies to interrupt their conversation. They mean well, yes, but she wants information. Regula’s posture has relaxed slightly when she looks to him again. “You speak as his faithful legatus. But tell me, Regula, what would you say as his friend?”

The Garlean’s form jerks with surprise. “I--” He shakes his head. “I would speak much the same. That is just how we are.” She thinks the legatus sounds like he is smiling under his helmet. “Does that answer disappoint you?”

“No. During our… last encounter, he did not entirely strike me as the sort of man who has the first idea of how to relax from formalities.”

Regula chuckles. “A man of his family and status is rarely afforded that luxury.” He hums a soft tune. “But, I do try when I get the chance.”

“I see.” She smiles. “Are good men like you a rare commodity in Garlemald?”

He flusters and half turns his head to the side. “No. I can think of another.”

She watches as he looks away from her, doing a quick survey of their surroundings. The Warrior lets him finish, not wanting to interrupt his duty. 

“Is he well?”

“Hm?” Regula’s head pivots to face her. “Why do you ask?”

The Warrior shrugs. “You said he held interest in how I fare. It would make sense if I were permitted to ask in kind.”

“Oh. Yes.” He shrugs his narrow shoulders. “The Emperor was in good health last I saw him. And he gave no indication of problems in his most recent missives.”

She tsks and shakes her head. “So literal.”

Regula stares down at her for a long moment. “I should go soon. But, here. He will want you to have this.” The legatus roots around in a pocket and pulls out something. “Catch.”

He tosses the object down to her, and she grabs it easily out of the air. Curious, she opens her palm. It is a small dark grey stone shaped like a flattened egg, weighty despite its small size. She turns it over, and finds three words carved into the back. 

“ _Lux in obumbratio_ ,” she reads. “Light in the shadows?”

Regula’s voice floats down to her. “You know High Garlean? That is a surprise. Most in Garlemald don’t even speak it anymore.” 

She looks up to him. “Oh. No, I don’t, but my Echo translates it for me. What does it mean?”

“I’m not permitted to tell you,” the legatus says. “Keep a hold on that, and give it to Varis whenever you see him again. He will tell you what it means.”

“I will. Thank you, Regula.”

“Take care, Warrior of Light.” He lets out a sigh that is nearly muffled by his mask. “We shall see each other again soon, I am certain.”

The final time the Warrior meets with the legatus, he is struck dead by the primal.

Regula’s body stills on the ground, and panic wells up inside the Warrior. She has seen this before, seen the noble sacrifice, the jagged glowing wound, heard the mournful last words for a friend being left behind. She sees Regula and thinks of the Knight and wants to scream.

The Warrior says nothing, breathes hard through her nose, and only looks away when Y'shtola calls for her. The third primal must still be stopped, must be slain. The sacrifices of the legatus and his men, be they their enemies, must not have been in vain. The Warrior grabs her weapon and focuses the panic into something more useful.

When the primal has been felled, she turns her back to her allies and activates the black linkpearl. She rushes to where the Garleans are still gathered.

“Hello? Please, come in. The legatus--Regula--he has been slain!” She fights back at the panic in her voice but fails to keep it contained. Now that the battle is ended there is nothing to hold it back. There is a crackle of static. “The primal--the eikon, it killed him!”

A male voice crackles over the line. “Who is speaking? Identify yourself!”

She says her name, then adds: “The Warrior of Light. I was there. I saw it happen.”

Her words are followed by dead air. She sees several of the legatus’ men crowded around his body. One of them has their fingers to their ear. They look in her direction and nod.

There is another crackle from the linkpearl, then further minutes of silence. The men are still watching her, and she feels increasingly ill at ease.

Then, after silence: “Understood. Warrior of Light, it is being requested that you peacefully surrender and accompany our men back to the _Gration_.”

“What? Surrender? Who would request such a thing.”

Another pause, then: “Emperor Varis, miss. He wishes to speak with you in person.”

On board the disabled _Gration_ , she is greeted by the current second in command. The officer is a statue of a woman, with snow white hair and a third eye pale as moonstone. 

“Thank you for coming without a fight,” the officer says, looking steadily down at her. “We have already lost too many men today.”

The Warrior shakes her head, feeling fatigue creeping into her bones after the battle with the primal and its thralls. She clutches her pack to her chest, belatedly realizing that she has left her weapons behind. “You’re fortunate I don’t have a lot of fight left in me right now.”

The officer nods. “A transport carrier will be here soon to take the legatus home. Emperor Varis requests that you accompany them.”

“Me?” She does not understand why. She barely knows either of the men. The officer nods.

“Not as a prisoner,” the woman says in a careful tone. “Unless you make yourself one.”

This she can understand. During her first interaction with the Emperor, he had been quite lenient with her behavior as long as she did not cause him any trouble.

“I understand,” she says. “Is there anywhere I can freshen up?” She gestures at her armor, which has become grimed with blood and sweat and a bit of monstrous gore. The officer considers her, and makes a surprisingly sympathetic noise.

“Ah, yes, of course. I will see what civilian clothing I can find for you in storage. We don’t need to present you to His Radiance looking a mess, now do we?”

“Thank you.”

“I will show you to where you can wait in private until the transport arrives. Not everyone here will be amenable to your presence.”

The Warrior says nothing. She is fully aware of the damages she has done to the Empire, hells, the damages done to those serving on this very vessel. She disables her linkpearl, stuffs it into her pack, and follows the officer.

Not half a bell later the promised transport arrives. She is left alone in a small cell and given a somewhat itchy blanket in case she feels the need to rest. The Warrior cannot sleep. Her mind is too rattled to wind down. She peers out a viewport as the carrier speeds along, hoping to distract her thoughts from what has just happened. The twisted skies of Azys Lla are left behind, and soon the snowy Ishgardian countryside rolls past. They are cutting eastward, but she is not certain where their exact destination lies.

“We’ll be stopping at Gyr Abania,” says the soldier that comes to check on her after a few hours. “That is where His Radiance is currently located, dealing with some matter with the… viceroy at Ala Mhigo.”

“Ah. I see, thank you.” It is a small relief to know that she will not be taken too far into Imperial territory. She has almost no familiarity or knowledge of the lands east of Gridania, and does not want to get lost in the wilds should she need to escape.

A man in full heavy armor stands near on a nearby catwalk and watches the Warrior as she disembarks from the transport. She is not introduced to the man, and he says nothing to her, but she can feel his gaze sharp at her back as the soldier leads her away. She is guided up a long flight of stairs, and then down a maze of halls until the soldier stops at a doorway flanked by two women in accented black armor.

“His Radiance is waiting for you here,” the soldier says, and then hurries away. The guards do not address her, but she is certain she can feel their hidden gazes on her.

She stands in front of the door. For a moment she wonders what would happen if she just walked out, but she reminds herself that she chose to contact the _Gration_ , and she chose to come here.

She knocks on the door.

“Come in,” a voice growls from inside the room. She opens the door and slips inside before quickly closing it behind her.

The room is a small, unused looking office. The Emperor is standing before a window. He is minus his cape and pauldrons--those are draped over the back of the desk chair, and his crown rests on the desk itself. Varis turns away from the window, and the afternoon light casts heavy shadows on his face.

He says her name, and takes a step closer. “It is true, then?” The Emperor’s voice is strained. She nods.

“I’m sorry, Varis.”

He sags visibly, as though his body has forgotten how to support its own weight. Without thinking, she crosses the room to where he stands. His gauntlets press into her as he grabs her and squeezes her against his left side. His head bows, face burying in her hair, and he sags further, as though the strength of his enemy is the only thing keeping him upright in that moment.

“Tell me what happened. The reports will lie to diminish my anger.”

So she does, telling him of the hunt for the final member of the Warring Triad, of the uneasy cooperation between the legatus and the Scions. Of how Regula van Hydrus perished defending one of her own. He is quiet through the whole story, and remains so once it has finished.

She whispers: “He did not wish for death. It simply came for him, and he accepted it when it did.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because, during a previous encounter he… He said that he did not want to die in a pointless spat over honor, as he could not continue to serve you were he to be dead.”

“Ah.” Varis’ voice strains. “The fool.”

The Warrior remembers one of her meetings with the late legatus, and retrieves the small grey stone from a pocket in her trousers.

“Here. During one of our conversations, the legatus gave me this when I asked upon you. He said that I should give it to you, and you would tell me what it means.”

Varis tentatively takes the stone. His eyes widen before his face crumples. “Oh, Regula.” Now his eyes take on the glossy sheen of unshed tears. His voice strains further. “You duty bound fool.”

She watches him, feeling as though she is intruding upon his suffering. “Varis?”

“Thank you,” the Emperor grunts out. “You did not have to come to me, but you did. You very well could have disregarded my summons, and stayed with your allies. Any man would have been thusly inclined.”

She hesitates. “I could have, yes. But, I chose not to.” She reaches up and gives his shoulder a squeeze. She offers the man an excuse for his poor posture that has nothing to do with his sorrow. “I’m glad that I did, though. Your back is clearly hurting you.”

Varis snorts softly. “Yes, I suppose that it is.”

“Maybe you should sit for a few minutes. It’s alright. I’m the only one here to see, and who would believe the word of a savage?”

“‘Tis true,” he murmurs, turning the dark stone in his fingers. “Thank you for bringing me this, Warrior.” Varis hums softly, an echo of the tune she heard escape the legatus days before. “This was our [ _trust stone_ ]. He was… Regula was… vouching for your character.” He sighs, and it is a lost and regretful sound. “As though I needed to be told that the Warrior of Light was a good person.”

“I… why would he have me pass this on to you?”

“Ah, well. Regula knew that I desire you as an ally. A ruler needs all the trustworthy associates that he can find. By giving the stone to you, and you delivering it to me, it establishes a line of trust.” The Emperor frowns. “We’d never successfully used it before. Most of the time we had to retrieve the stone from a traitor’s corpse.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“It was an old tradition in parts of Ilsabard.” Varis looks at the stone for a moment longer, and then tucks it away in a pocket. “Come, Warrior. I think I need to rest for a few minutes.”

He shows her how to carefully remove his breastplate, and then sets it down on the stone floor. His gauntlets follow before he sits at the desk. The Warrior does not protest when he pulls her into his lap. The Emperor wraps his thick arms around her, and rests his chin on the top of her head. As he settles his weight against hers, she can half imagine the scolding she will get from the Scions for putting herself in this position. They will say that the Emperor is a monster, a villain, and their mortal enemy. And while this she knows to be true, she cannot help but also see him as a man who has just lost his closest friend, the person who had stood fast at his side and supported his ambitions for decades. Were Varis any man of Eorzea, the Scions would be more than happy for the Warrior of Light to spend some of her valuable time comforting the woes of a stranger.

So she lets him hug her and hold her like a child might clutch at their favorite doll. After a few minutes, he sighs deeply, and she can feel the vibration against her back.

“Distract me, Warrior of Light,” he says. There is a soft plea to his voice. “Tell me a tale of your adventures.”

This gives her pause, as Ser Aymeric is also fond of using her stories as means to distract himself from his own troubles. She does not know if she is merely an engaging storyteller, or if men in power are prone to bouts of escapism.

She tells him of her involvement in the recent conclusion of the Dragonsong War, and of the demise of the great wyrm Nidhogg. The story takes a long time, and when she has finished telling it the sky outside the window has grown dark and her voice is getting stuck in her dry throat. Varis is silent when she ceases speaking, and for a moment she thinks he has fallen asleep on her.

Then he murmurs: “An impressive tale. You gave much for their cause. And what did you gain in return? What reward, what status did the people of Ishgard see fitting to bestow upon the Warrior of Light?”

Her throat is tight, so she whispers: “I don’t know what you mean.”

There is a knock on the door. The Emperor sits up and clears his throat, but does not push her from his lap.

“Come in,” he calls. The door creaks open. One of his guards salutes after pushing the door open far enough to see him in the dim lighting. The other guard stands behind the first, and also salutes.

“Your Radiance,” the first guard says. “Is everything alright? You missed the call for the evening meal.”

“So I did,” Varis says, keeping his voice steady. “I am fine. I was simply discussing the day’s unfortunate events with the Warrior of Light. I will take my meal here. Have a pitcher of water brought along with coffee and my usual. Then inform the leader of the ground crew to have my vessel ready to depart for home two bells before dawn. Once that has been completed, you and Annia are free to retire until three bells.”

The guard salutes him. “As you command, my Lord. Is there aught else?”

Varis makes a thoughtful noise, and the Warrior can feel his gaze on the back of her head. “A blanket. The nights are cold here in the desert.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few minutes pass before there is another knock on the door. One of the palace servants delivers the Emperor’s requested items. She greedily fills a stoneware cup with water and gulps it down. With her throat soothed, she takes the time to observe the Emperor’s meager repast. Varis’ ‘usual’ is little more than several slices of buttered toast, three sweet pastries, and a small bowl of some sort of thick vegetable soup.

“That explains why you’re so big on breakfast,” she murmurs in observation. The Emperor grunts softly, chewing at one of the pieces of toast.

“I don’t like to eat heavily when flying back into Garlemald. Too much turbulence, on any given day.”

The Warrior nearly thanks him for the information, but realizes that she does not know if she will even be accompanying the Emperor further east in the morning. She pours herself more water.

Varis offers her some of his food. She nearly declines it--the rough battles of her day have left her too weary to think about eating much--but she decides to be polite and accepts one of the pieces of toast.

She asks, curious: “Was the viceroy expecting you to dine with him?”

“I do not think that he was. At the least, he was probably relieved that I did not show up for the meal.” Varis takes a sip of coffee. “The boy eats like a bird anyway. I don’t know why they would insist on wasting so much food.”

“The boy?” She wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Who is the viceroy?”

The Emperor frowns into his mug, less than pleased with her question. “He is the lord Legatus of the XIIth Imperial Legion, which rules over Ala Mhigo and other areas.” He indelicately shoves another piece of toast into his mouth. “Zenos yae Galvus.”

For a moment she just watches him chew, until her mind makes sense of the order and complexity of his words. “Zenos?”

“My son and heir,” Varis says, brows low over his eyes.

“If I may be so bold as to say, you don’t sound entirely pleased by that fact.”

The Emperor just sighs, and she decides to let the subject drop.

The Warrior finishes her toast and another cup of water, and watches him methodically work through his food. She reaches and combs her fingers through his hair. He says nothing, still eating, but marginally tips his head into the touch. 

“Aren’t you tired, Varis?”

“Yes,” he says. “Hence the coffee.”

The Warrior is tired. She has watched a good man die and then slain a monstrous primal. Whatever adrenaline has been fueling her has long since faded, and she would like for little more than to close her eyes and not open them again until the sun has returned to the sky. She wants to bury her face in the coarse emperor’s soft hair and just let another bad day disappear.

“You aren’t going to sleep?” she asks. Varis shakes his head.

“No. I will attempt to rest on the flight back to Garlemald. Preparations for a state funeral will have to begin when I get there.”

“Oh. I see.” She feels a bit foolish telling the man: “I’m tired.”

“You have had a strenuous day,” he says. “You may rest. I will be quiet.”

She realizes, as a heavy hand comes to rest on her hip, that he means for her to sleep on him, as though we were some sort of sentient armchair. “Oh. Well, I know it’s crude of me to ask, but do you know where a water closet is in this place?”

Varis chuckles softly and points at the door. “Down the hall on the right. I believe the fourth door. There is a sign.”

“Thank you.”

When she returns, the dishes from dinner have been cleared away. All that remains now is the coffee. Varis is standing, and she sees that he is minus more of his armor, the greaves and belt now being part of the pile on the floor. She wonders idly if that is for her comfort or his own. Even shed of his shell of gleaming black and gold, the Emperor is still a very large and imposing man. He does not seem to be actively trying to achieve this, he simply is. The pure-blooded Garleans that she has seen in the past were all very tall, but their new ruler easily stands a head or more taller than any of them.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, voice soft.

“Oh, you’re just… Very tall. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’m quite sure you’re fully aware of your dimensions and grew tired of being reminded of them decades ago.”

The Emperor chuckles softly, a small smile turning up the thin line of his mouth. “You are indeed an observant and well-intended person, Warrior. How that good part of you survives in your business is a curiosity.”

She yawns and stretches her arms over her head. “Keep a song in your heart and a knife in your boot.”

His eyes flick briefly down to her boots, and he chuckles again. “Come, Warrior. Get some rest.”

She settles back on his thighs and turns sideways as to not block his right arm’s range of motion. He unfolds the blanket and drapes it over her. Then his left arm curls around her middle and tucks her against his chest. The Emperor radiates heat like a forge, and combined with the blanket she quickly grows drowsy.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. He makes a faint, agreeable noise in his throat, but says nothing.

The Warrior of Light wonders what the Scions are doing, if they have grown frantic in her seeming capture and disappearance. She will have to get back into contact with them in the morrow.

She wonders if the Emperor will demand for her to accompany him when it is two bells until dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

It is still dark when she is roused from her fitful sleep. The bulk of the Emperor shifts underneath her. His arm is still loose against her back, but she can hear him murmuring to her. The soft sound of his low voice growling her name is enough to make her body tingle.

“...it is time to wake.”

She opens her eyes and briefly struggles to remember how to move. Her body does not want to, it protests with stiffness and demands to remain firmly ensconced against the Emperor’s form. But Varis shifts his weight again and moves his arm to give her backside a delicate nudge.

“Come, Warrior. I must get up, and so must you.”

She groans, reluctantly shifting her weight away from his. “What time is it?”

“Half to the third bell before dawn,” comes the answer. “I must prepare myself.”

“You told your bodyguards three bells.”

“Yes, but I would like a few minutes to myself.” He pats her hip and she slides off his lap. “Surely you must understand.”

“I… yes. Sometimes it’s nice to be alone for a little while.” She gestures at the door. “I can leave?”

“That will not be necessary.” Varis rises from the chair with a grunt. “You may sit. I will return shortly.”

The Warrior watches him depart in the direction of the bathroom. She sits in the wooden desk chair, which still radiates a bit of leftover heat from its occupants. She shivers and wraps the blanket around herself, and waits for him.

When Varis returns, his step is less stiff. She wonders if his legs fell asleep from her sitting in his lap all evening.

The Emperor sets about returning his armor to his person. “I need to ask you a question, Warrior.”

She yawns, comfortable in her blanket cocoon. “Oh? What is it, Varis?”

“Come with me to the capital.”

She blinks and is unable to suppress the confused frown. “That isn’t a question. That’s an order.”

He pauses in smoothing down the front of his tabard. “Ah. ‘Tis true. What I meant was that I am offering you an invitation to come to the palace with me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he says, tone a bit gruff. “I wish you to accompany me.”

“Why?” she asks again, and he lets out a frustrated hiss between his teeth.

“Because, you--you have given me comfort, and I would ask you to continue. For today, at the least.”

It strikes her as sad--that the leader of a whole nation would be so alone. Doubly so now, with the loss of the man who struck the Warrior as his only true confidant. She wonders, in this sort of situation, how long it takes for a ruler to sour to the ruled, how long it takes for them to become a terror to their own people.

Still, she hesitates. “What if I do not wish to accompany you?” She is already needed as the hero of Eorzea, surely she cannot be expected to be a champion for their enemy, too.

The Emperor’s mouth sets in a frown. “I would not be surprised. And I would not force you. I can arrange for transportation to safely take you back to the border of Gyr Abania. Though you are here as my guest, I cannot so easily guarantee any neutrality on the part of those stationed here should you choose to go alone.”

“That is kind of you, Varis.” She unwinds from the blanket, and shivers at the chill in the night air. “Might I have a few minutes to think on the matter?”

He nods. “You have until my bodyguards arrive.”

“Thank you.” The Warrior toes over to where she left her pack by the door. She searches through the pockets until she finds a small wooden comb. Varis is making a show of inspecting his armor before returning it to his body, but she can feel his gaze on her as she leans against the desk and combs through her sleep-tousled hair. “You know, it’s strange, when I think about it.”

“Hm?”

“When I first was approached by the Scions, to help them with the threat from the primals, they quite prided themselves on being a neutral party between the different city states. But eventually they put that aside in favor of supporting the Eorzean Alliance.”

“And no neutrality against Garlemald, of course.” 

“Your forces had already been attacking Eorzea for years. To be passive against them would be tantamount to being complicit in the destruction of our own lands.”

“Perhaps.”

“And, your soldiers attacked the Scions directly.”

The Emperor grunts softly and turns his face away. “It is a matter of war, Warrior of Light. You know that.”

“True.” She turns the comb in her fingers. “I only really attacked Imperial forces because I had been ordered to. Much as your own soldiers could say the same in reverse.”

The buckles on his belt click noisily in the quiet air. “What would you have done, had you not been ordered?”

She snorts softly. “Are you kidding? I had just started out as an adventurer. I was absolutely clueless about almost everything in Eorzea.” The Warrior shrugs after a pause. “I likely would have run off.”

“Very brave, coming from the hero of Eorzea.”

“I was a young woman armed with effectively a pointy stick and some magic. Against armed infantry and gigantic machina.” She watches him reattach his pauldrons and cape to his mess of armor. “But for the blessing of Hydaelyn, I would have been dead years ago.”

He chuckles softly. “So, the stories I have heard of your combat prowess are exaggerated?”

“Everything gets exaggerated after a few retellings,” she says. “But, no, I am a much better combatant now than I was when I started out.”

The Emperor throws a glance to her pack. “So good that you don’t require any armaments?”

She flusters and waves the comb at him. “I might have left them in my earlier haste. I’m sure the Scions picked up my weapons.”

“From what I saw previously, they looked to be of expensive make.”

“Yes, well. The weapons help keep me alive. So I benefit from having the best I can afford.”

“Wise words.” The breastplate returns to its usual place. “How did you become involved with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn? I would have thought one of the Grand Companies would have snatched up a halfway competent soldier first.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s a story.” She shakes her head. “In simplest terms, the Scions were really initially interested in gaining my aid because of my Echo. With the Echo, I can fight a primal without concern of being tempered. Of course, I have to not be mauled to death, too, but fortunately I… very quickly got better at fighting.”

“Because of your Gift.”

“Just so.” She nods and stifles a yawn. “‘Tis too early for such talk, Varis. Don’t you think so?”

“Perhaps.” He turns and looks down at his crown, still resting on the desk. She looks up at him.

“Unless you’re trying to distract yourself?”

His lips pinch into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be deciding on your course this morning?”

“I am.” She extends her reach with the comb and taps him lightly on the nose. “If I choose to come with you to Garlemald, do you plan on holding me hostage there? I’d rather not become a prisoner again if I could help it.”

His hawkish gaze tries to focus on the comb but fails. The Emperor grouses softly and moves to push her hand away, but checks the motion when his fingers touch her wrist. “I am asking you to come to Garlemald as my guest. Nothing more. As long as you behave while in Garlean territory, nothing will be added to your extensive list of offenses, and there will be no reason to put you in chains.”

“Then, I can leave when I wish?”

“Weather permitting, yes. There is a lack of functioning aetherytes in our territory, so you would have to be transported closer to Eorzea.”

“So much trouble, just for me.”

His fingers curl lightly around her wrist. “Why do you diminish your worth so readily?”

The Warrior licks her lips. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m just an adventurer who has gotten in over her head, and you are the leader of an entire empire.”

He shakes his head. “It is disheartening to see someone of such value dismiss herself so easily. I would rather have a whole Legion of soldiers as brave and talented as you, then all the Magitek that my grandsire has left behind.”

She blushes and pulls her hand away, hurrying over to the relative safety of her pack. “You don’t--you don’t have to lower yourself to base flattery, Emperor. I was going to accompany you anyways.”

Varis blinks, and his brows lift slightly in unison. “You were?”

The Warrior nods as she tucks the comb back into her bag. “I was. I’m admittedly somewhat curious as to what Garlemald looks like, aside from just ‘cold’. There’s no harm in a little sight-seeing, right? I can just… pretend I’m doing recon for the Scions.”

The frown departs from the lines it has permanently etched into his face, and is replaced by a reserved smile. “You can call it what you like, Warrior.”

Two bells later, and the Warrior of Light is aboard another transport vessel, similar to the one that first brought her to Ala Mhigo. The aircraft speeds on a northeasterly course, and she tries to not let a small prick of doubt cut a track of worry into her mind. She wonders what she is getting herself into.

She has no way of knowing.

The Emperor made a point of not watching the legatus’ body being loaded onto the new vessel. Now he is secreted away in a private compartment on the ship, away from the prying eyes of the crew. She stands in the closed doorway and watches him remove his crown and breastplate before flopping heavily on the bed that takes up most of the small room.

“Hardly fitting quarters for an Emperor,” she notes. He grunts softly, an arm thrown over his head.

“You should see the bunks the crew has to share,” he says. His voice is low, weary, worn as though he has been crying. She knows he hasn’t, but hears it in his tone all the same. For a long moment he is silent, and then he murmurs her name. “I’m going to rest for a bit. You can stand there if you’d like, or you can join me. Either way, I would appreciate it if you hit that button by your left shoulder to lower the lights.”

“Oh. Yes.” She presses the button as requested, and the lights drop to near total darkness. It takes a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dim blue glow that is emitted by a series of small lights lining the center of the floor.

She removes her boots and sets them next to her pack, and then carefully toes through the darkness to the bed. The Emperor takes up most of the space on the military issued bunk, but when she touches the fabric above his right knee he subtly shifts his weight closer to the wall. With a murmur of thanks she settles down next to him. The mattress is hard, and she idly thinks that he was a more comfortable place to sleep.

There is a faint clink of armor as the arm cast over his head moves to encircle her. He draws her in closer, and she rests her cheek against the soft cloth of his tabard. His heart is pounding.

“It’s alright,” she whispers. Varis lets out a long, shaking breath.

She awakes some time later in the near dark. The airship is shaking steadily around her, and she dimly remembers Varis saying something about turbulence. The Warrior presses herself closer to the man, his bulk still and reassuring. He sleeps quietly, face placid aside from a pinch between his brows that is not there during his waking hours. She wonders what he might dream of--the death of his friend? The long ago passing of his wife? His troublesome son? She has no way of knowing what occupies his dreams, and is not keen on bothering him to find out. Dreams are private unless they are chosen to be shared, she thinks.

The Warrior dozes, but does not entirely return to slumber. She has rested enough since nightfall for her body to refuse incapacitation, and so she drifts on the edge of a dream. Eventually the rumble of the turbulence slacks off, and she becomes aware of the Emperor’s breath warm on the nape of her neck.

“Did you get any sleep?” she wonders aloud. Varis grunts softly, pressing closer to her, nose bumping against her neck. His arm squeezes at her, nearly enough to be painful, but stopping before she lets out a noise of discomfort.

“I’m not awake,” the Emperor murmurs against her skin. “This is just a dream.”

“Oh.” She shifts her weight and curls her arm over her shoulder, pressing her fingertips to his cheek. “So, you did get sleep, then.”

“Enough for now.” His weight shifts along the length of the uncomfortable bed. “Enough to get through the day.”

“I’m sure they’ll have plenty of coffee ready for you,” she says softly.

“Mm-hmm.” He exhales through his nose, and it tickles at her skin. His head tilts against her hand, and she feels the scrape of stubble along his jaw. 

“You need to shave.”

“You need to shave,” he echoes with sleepy childishness, and she laughs. Varis sighs. “You aren’t going to let me go back to sleep, are you?”

“I could, if you told me to.” She returns her hand to where it had been tucked against his arm. “How much longer do we have?”

“How should I know?” he grumbles. His arm uncurls from around her middle, and his hand grips the side of the bed as he pushes his bulk into a seated position. She shivers at the loss of his warmth. The Warrior snuggles against his side as Varis fishes what looks like a pocket watch from inside his armor. He pops the lid open, and she is quietly fascinated by the soft blue glow of the numbers that appear on the stark white face of the watch.

“Is that magitek?” she whispers.

“Mm? Yes, it is.” He angles the watch so she can see the numbers. “The sun will be up in the capital by now. Assuming the weather hasn’t delayed our travel pattern, we should reach the palace in about an hour.” He clicks the watch closed and returns it to his pocket. Varis looks down at her. “Are you cold?”

“A bit, yes.” She tucks her hands against the leather of his under armor. “You aren’t?”

“I’m acclimated.” Varis makes a thoughtful noise. “I will have to find something for you to cover up with when we arrive. Your face, as well.”

“My face?” She thinks. “Oh. Right. You probably don’t want everyone to know that you’re sneaking the Warrior of Light into the palace.”

The Emperor makes a noise of agreement. “It will be easier than dealing with the fuss my detractors will cause.” His arm coils around her side again. “I’m sure there’s a cloak in storage. We’ll check after landing.”

“Alright.” She rests her head against his side. “What do we do until then?”

For a long moment Varis says nothing. Then: “I don’t know. I am not good for small talk when I’m only half awake.”

“We don’t have to talk,” she says.

His hand twitches against her ribs. “I don’t think now is--”

“I meant a walk.”

The Emperor blinks. “There isn’t really much to see.”

“Is there at least a viewport somewhere? I’m curious about the area we’re flying over.”

Varis’ eyes half close in thought. “There is not much to view. Mostly snow. Rooftops. Things like that.”

“Oh. I understand.” She reaches and twists a lock of his pale hair around her fingers. “I don’t mind just waiting, then. Perhaps you should try to get a little more sleep.”

He grunts softly in agreement and settles back down on the hard mattress. The Warrior lets him hold her to his chest. She lies in the dark, wide awake, and listens to the Emperor’s breathing even out as he drifts back off to sleep.

She wonders why she feels safe in her enemy’s arms.

There is a moderate amount of pomp and fanfare when the Emperor disembarks from the transport carrier. The Warrior supposes that he was not gone long enough for more of a fuss to be made over his return. Again Varis does not stop to look at the long black box when it is unloaded. His face pinches in displeasure as he hurries down through the loading docks, boots clanging loudly. She grips her pack in her arms and trails behind, not quite able to keep up with the man in his unhappy haste. She is grateful for the heavy cloak that one of the crew found for her in a storage locker. It is made of some soft fur she does not recognize that is dyed a deep, blood-soaked red. The Warrior keeps the hood of the cloak over her face as she tries to keep pace between the Emperor and his bodyguards. 

She only manages to catch up when the Emperor stops to speak with a few soldiers. They are asking about the legatus. She cannot see his face, but can tell from how tense his voice is that he wants the conversation to be over. She understands--the centurion who thinks he has the Emperor’s ear does not.

“The Consul has allotted the required time for services--”

Varis raises a hand. “Good. I will address the matter after the mid-day bells.”

“Y-yes, Your Radiance. As you say.” The centurion sounds a bit put off through his helmet, but politely salutes and steps out of the Emperor’s way. When he reaches a lift at the end of a long echoing hallway, he only waits long enough to the Warrior to step on before hitting a button. The doors clang shut, and for a moment there is only the soft rattling of the lift and his heavy sigh. She peeks from under the edge of the cloak. Varis is frowning, staring hard at the closed doors. She wants to ask him a question--how is he feeling--but she knows that is a pointless gesture. She can tell how he is feeling without any words. Alone in the lift, the Emperor allows himself a brief moment of respite, and the frown and pinched brows tell her more than any grumbled words possibly could.

Instead, she reaches and presses her fingertips lightly to his armored forearm. Varis jerks, as though he has forgotten her presence, but then exhales softly.

“Just stay with me,” he says as the lift comes to a stop. There is a pleasant mechanical chime. She nods, removing her hand and adjusting her cloak as she follows the Emperor out of the lift and into the palace proper. She hears one of the guards greet him, but Varis just grunts softly and strides down the hall.

The Warrior minds her hood as she follows him and carefully takes in their surroundings. They are heading down a long corridor, with high ceilings that seem oversized even for the giant Garlean hurrying through them. Everything is dark--the ornately carved wooden wall panels are painted black, as are the columns, the stairs and their railings. The floors are tiled in various shades of gray. Everything is trimmed in sparse, carefully allotted amounts of gold. It comes off as austere rather than grim, as the hallways are well lit enough to stave off the gloomy gray light that comes through the windows and skylights. And yet, even with the light, the palace is clearly someone’s loving testimonial to the majesty of the dark.

The only real break in the dark color scheme is the red and gold carpet they make their way down. She is aware of the Emperor’s bodyguards catching up and following at a respectable distance. The Warrior still does her best to keep up with him as he walks down the quiet halls, as he does not seem to be in the more considerate mood that he had been in during their earlier walk together.

Eventually they turn down another hallway, and the red carpet terminates in front of a lone door. Varis stops, doesn’t move, and waits for one of his bodyguards to retrieve a keycard and press it to a black panel next to the door. The bodyguard disappears inside the room for a few minutes. When she returns, she smartly salutes him.

“Everything is clear, Your Radiance,” she says. He nods and pushes the door open.

Holding it wide, he says: “After you, Warrior.”

She can feel the bodyguards stare at her as she enters the room. Varis closes the door and locks it behind them.

The Warrior realizes that this is not a room they have stepped into, but the antechamber for a suite of rooms that stem from doors along another stretch of hallway. All the lights have already been activated by the bodyguard.

They are in the Emperor’s personal quarters.

“All this, just for you?” she says as she peers down the hallway. Varis makes a thoughtful noise as he nimbly plucks the cloak from her shoulders and hangs it on a hook by the locked door.

“What, were you expecting more?” He presses a hand to her shoulder blades and guides her down the hall. “This is honestly more space than I need, but I was happy to move back into this suite when I took the throne.”

She looks at the floor. It is covered in slats of dark wood and several lengths of a dark green runner, trimmed with silver. It looks like something more at home in some Ishgardian nobles’ hunting lodge than in the Imperial palace.

“Back into here?” she echoes, curious, as he pushes open a door. Beyond is a study, as evidenced by the tall bookshelves and desk covered in a haphazard arrangement of papers and several pairs of reading glasses. Everything is done in dark wood, trimmed with silver, and the cloth accents are varying shades of forest green.

“These were my quarters when I was younger,” Varis said. He removes his crown and sets it down on top of a pile of papers. “They’re as far from the throne room as I could manage.”

The Warrior pushes back a heavy drape and tries to peer out the window, but the view is obscured by a combination of frosted glass and a layer of snow. “I expected more red and gold.”

“Ah, well.” He coughs softly. “I redecorated to my own tastes.” The Emperor ducks his head to look at one of the piles of paperwork on the desk.

She turns to look at the rest of the study. There is no fireplace, but instead a radiator in its place that hums softly and glows faintly blue when it cycles on to warm the room in response to their presence.

“The green is nice,” she offers. “Lively.”

“Ah… thank you.” Varis clears his throat. “I can show you the rest.”

She nods, and he leads her out into the hallway. There is a sitting room, similarly dressed, though it has a too-clean, unused quality to it. Then an oversized bathing room that is larger than the apartment she has rented back in Eorzea. They come to a stop in the doorway of the Emperor’s bedroom.

“While you are my guest, you are more than welcome to take your repose here,” the Emperor says. “Or I can have your own guest quarters arranged.”

“Here?” She glances toward the man. “But, these are your rooms, Varis.”

His tone is deadpan. “Yes, I am aware.”

“I don’t think it appropriate for you to… to…” She trails off uncertainly as he rests a heavy hand at the small of her back. “To invite an enemy of your nation to share your bed with you.” The bed is, to be fair, very large, and they likely could lie on opposite sides without being able to meet hands in the middle.

The Emperor steps further into his room. A thoughtful noise drifts down to her. She trails after him. 

“Then I will give you a full pardon,” Varis says, as though this were the only obvious answer. She jolts and steps away from him.

“What--You can’t just do that!”

“Of course I can. I am the Emperor. My word is law.” He holds his hand out to her. “You would refuse my pardon?”

She frowns. “If you’re only giving it just to sleep with me again, then yes.”

He echos her frown and looks at his hand. “You have shown me a sincere kindness, Warrior. Even if it is only born from pity, I still believe that you did not do it to curry favor with me. Was I wrong?”

She stares up at his face, at the openness of his expression. He doesn’t want to be wrong, she thinks. He does not want her to be just another boot licker trying to get on the better side of the throne.

“No. I really did feel bad for you, Varis. You showed your own kindness to me when… well, not quite when we first met, since you had me arrested.” The Emperor grimaces and curls his hand back against his chest. “You were… polite enough to ask me what troubled me after my capture. And you did not mock my suffering over my loss.” She swallows. “Shouldn’t the Warrior of Light be a good enough person to give the same courtesy in return?”

He speaks slowly, as though still trying to parse his thoughts in his mind. “So you were just trying to address the balance.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t an active thought, okay? The legatus died and I just--I lost my cool. So I used the linkpearl you gave me. And I went when Regula’s men said you wanted to speak with me.”

“It was as I said in Ala Mhigo,” Varis murmurs. “I needed someone who would not try to soften the blow for me.”

The Warrior leans toward him. “And what do you want from me now, Varis? What are you trying to bribe with a pardon?”

His voice is low, but he does not hesitate in his reply. “Your company. I want for your company, Warrior of Light.”

“Why me?”

The Emperor shakes his head, a faint color tinting his high cheeks. “Why not you?”

“Because, before my powers were given to me, I was absolutely nobody. You have always been somebody, Varis. I can’t possibly do anything that would interest you.”

He purses his lips. “That is not for you to decide.”

“I don’t get any say in the matter?”

“In the matter of my own thoughts? No. Your ‘say’, as you put it, is in whether or not you accept my offer. You can refuse and still stay.” He considers something and smirks. “Though, I must say, I would enjoy imagining the impotent displeasure on the faces of the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance when they realize I have done something they wouldn’t dream of--that is, offering you my hand in forgiveness.”

“So, you do get something out of it.”

The smirk lingers as he shrugs. “I could write them a letter detailing how pleasurable you are in bed, if you would prefer that manner of pettiness.”

She blushes and swats at his arm. “Don’t you dare!” He chuckles down at her. The Warrior sighs. “So, what’s the catch, on the pardon?”

He blinks, mirth forgotten. “The catch? Ah, you mean the conditions. The legalese in Garlemald always requires conditions.” The Emperor clears his throat. “For you, Warrior, given the nature of your crimes against the state, your pardon would be invalidated were you to return to violence against citizens of the state or its lands and properties.”

“So I would not be able to return to Eorzea.”

Varis flinches. “You would. But you would not be able to participate in any offenses against Garlemald. Were you to do that, you would probably be eliminated by a sniper as soon as you took the field. If you were lucky, at the least. If you were in Gyr Abania, you might be unlucky and run into my son.”

“That sounds like a threat, Varis.”

His armor rattles as he shrugs. “I am simply warning you of all the conditions. You asked.”

She sighs. “I did, yes.”

The Emperor watches her silently, his expression one of apprehension.

“Might I have some time to consider your offer? In the meanwhile, as it is likely the safest place for me here, I would gladly take my rest in your rooms tonight.”

“And after that?”

“No one knows tomorrow, Varis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I love this or hate this. I just want to smoosh them together. :|


	4. Chapter 4

Several days pass after the Warrior of Light arrives at the Imperial Palace of Garlemald. She has not left the Emperor’s quarters since her arrival, though she finds little reason to complain. She is not used to having time to herself, to just relax and nap and flip through first edition copies of books written in a language that she does not know but her Echo has no trouble with. Varis spends much of his time out of his chambers, attending meetings and showing his face in the throne room. The Warrior doesn’t really know what all of that entails, but thinks it’s probably boring compared to going on an adventure out in the wilds, so she doesn’t bother him about his work.

Varis does not give her any sort of orders to remain in his quarters. There was a light suggestion of such a thing on the first afternoon, before he went to work on arrangements for the funeral of the legatus. But, no orders, and when he returns to his quarters he seeks her out and asks what she has been up to in his absence. His expression is always tense at first, but relaxes after a few minutes of speaking with her. He returns once during the day usually, around the mid-day bells, and takes his meals in his quarters so that she can join him. They make use of the previously neglected table and chairs in the sitting room. He is always quiet when he eats and drinks his coffee, but sometimes prompts her into speaking with a well placed question. Varis listens to her speak, a small smile on his lips.

On the afternoon of the second day she is at the palace, the Emperor returns from the funeral of Regula van Hydrus. He is silent as he enters his quarters, and says nothing to the Warrior. She asks nothing of him. She knows where he has been--she heard the cannons firing during the service. Varis limps down the hall like a wounded man, and frees himself of his crown and half of his armor before reaching his over-sized bed. She pulls back the soft pale green covers and sits, stretching out her legs. The Emperor collapses next to her on the mattress, and drags himself forward until his head rests on her thighs. They are both wordless as he weeps, soaking her silken trousers with his sorrow. She strokes her fingers through his hair, letting him release what he needs to get out. She does not say a word, and eventually his tears taper off, and his breathing evens out. She does not rouse him from his slumber until the servants arrive with his evening meal.

The next day, he returns to his quarters shortly after the mid-day meal is delivered. The Warrior is already helping herself to a bowl of warm soup when he stops and leans in the doorway to the sitting room.

She looks up at him, takes in the fatigue in his eyes, knows that he slept fitfully the night before, but says nothing. He slowly enters the room, sets his crown down on an empty armchair, and sits in his usual seat to her left.

“Are you alright?” she finally dares to ask. He frowns.

“I cannot remember a time when I was truly ‘alright’ in the last forty years,” Varis says. “What you mean is--am I worse than usual?”

The Warrior gives a small shrug and sets the bowl down. “You don’t have to be so aggressive about it, but yes.”

His eyelids half close. “I would say I am of an average condition.” Varis leans and picks up a slice of dark brown bread, and busies himself slathering it with butter and jam. “I have been wondering, Warrior. Have you given further consideration to my offer?”

“The pardon?” she says, and he nods. “I--well, yes. I have.” She doesn’t tell him that she thought about it the day previous as he lay miserable before her.

He sets the knife down on the platter and slowly turns the bread in his fingers. “And? Any thoughts on the matter?”

The Warrior watches him. “If I stay, Varis, I don’t want it to be because you need a replacement for Regula.” She cuts off his growl of denial. “Because I could never do that. Friends are not something that can be replaced. Each one is a unique thing, just like people.”

He closes his mouth for a moment. “I was not going to expect such a thing of you, Warrior.”

“What did you have in mind, then?”

The Emperor coughs softly and turns his face away. “Nothing in particular.”

She leans her elbow on her knee and looks up at him. “I do believe you are lying, Varis.”

“You would be wise to not speak to me so when we are not alone,” he says, voice suddenly tense. “There are those who would take offense on my behalf.”

“And you?”

“I can tell that you--” the Emperor reaches out and tweaks at her chin with his gloved fingers. “--are teasing me.”

“As much as I dare, yes.”

“Mm.” He withdraws his heavy hand. “I would still like to call you my ally.” Now he meets her with his own teasing tone. “Or perhaps my consort, hmm?”

She blushes and retreats from his immediate proximity. “Very funny. I’m the Warrior of Light. I do not have time for that sort of thing.”

“Really? I could offer you all sorts of things you don’t need, Warrior: Safety, security, a quiet place away from the front lines…”

She snorts in amusement. “I definitely don’t have time for any of that.”

“A pity.”

The Warrior picks up the bowl of soup. “I’ll give you my decision tonight, okay? I don’t want to overstay your hospitality.”

He murmurs her name. “You may stay for as long as you like.” Then he quiets himself with his bread and says nothing more for the remainder of the meal.

If it is possible, the Emperor is in even more dismal spirits when he returns to his quarters not long after nightfall. She is in the study, paging through a peculiar history of military battles from prior to two Calamities ago, when he slams the door to his quarters shut and stomps his way into the same room that she is occupying. She watches him go over to the desk and sit. The desk chair seems over-sized to her, but it is probably just passably enough to support his bulk. The Emperor leans back into the dark wood, a soft sigh escaping him as he removes the crown from his head and sets it on the desk. She quietly closes the old tome before calling to him.

“Long day?”

Varis’ golden eyes widen, as though he has forgotten that he left the Warrior here to her own devices all afternoon. Perhaps he has, the matters of court have surely left little room in his thoughts for pleasantries.

“It tested my patience,” he says. “My spies in Gyr Abania sent in reports of unrest in the province. There is an increasing likelihood of an open rebellion beginning in the province.”

“Why have spies in Ala Mhigo? Isn’t your--don’t you control the region? Can’t the viceroy just deal with a rebellion on his own?”

“Quite handily,” Varis says. “But his idea of dealing with rebels is to hunt them all down like stray dogs and slaughter them. A province is of little value if it has been severely depopulated.”

“Fair enough.” She moves closer as he beckons, and sits lightly on his thighs, just above the metallic line of his greaves.

“Based on the reports, it will likely not be long before the Alliance gets involved, and with them the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.” He gazes down the line of his nose at her. “The Scions will be looking for you, if they have not started to already.”

“I’ve no reason to stop them from looking for me.”

He muses: “Their little resistance movement will fail without a Champion.”

“Surely there are those from Ala Mhigo who are worthy of being called heroes for their own cause,” she says. Her lips curl into a playful pout. “I am not a mercenary. And if I help defeat your forces in Gyr Abania, then all your other provinces and subjugated lands will get ideas, and I’ll be dragged all over the place to help more people gain freedom from your oppressive yoke.” She reaches up and touches the side of the keep-away spike, and he sighs.

“Isn’t that what you do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always been more about killing primals and ending ancient wars with dragons and killing Ascians. Typical adventurer activities.”

“I do believe you left out all the destruction of Imperial property and lives.”

“Yes, well.” She picks at the hem of her tunic. “You brought me here, knowing what I’ve done.”

He makes an agreeing noise. “The choice to stay or leave is yours to make, Warrior. Should you stay, you will remain under my auspices.”

“And should I go?”

He shrugs, and his armor rattles. “I should still hope to see you once more.”

She doesn’t know what to say, how to answer, and so she says nothing. The Emperor leaves the issue to hang awkwardly in the air for a few minutes before he clears his throat. 

“So, what did you do all afternoon, Warrior?”

She smiles at him. “I took a very long, and likely very expensive bath--you have quite the collection of oils and unguents to choose from. Then I cleaned out my pack and horrified your housemaid with part of a dead kobold.”

His shoulders shake again as he muffles a laugh. “At least you made good use of your time.”

She sighs dramatically: “I forgot to give the kobold to the researcher who requested the parts. A pity, they were going to give me a decent amount of gil for my efforts.”

“I will see that you are properly compensated for your lack of funds.” She nods, though she can’t be sure if he is teasing her or not. “How well does being hero of the savages pay?”

“Not as well as one of your infantry soldiers makes, I’m sure,” she says. “But, I don’t really do it for the coin, Varis. I would have gone back to just adventuring ages ago were that the case.”

“I see.” He closes his eyes and rests his head against the cushioned back of the chair. She watches him for a minute before leaning in towards his ear. 

“I know how to help you unwind a little,” she whispers.

“I don’t need to--” The Emperor is quieted by a finger pressed against his lips. “Go ahead, then.”

She slides her finger over his chin, feeling the slight pull of stubble there. “You are just laced up far too tightly for your own good.”

He makes an uncertain sound as she adjusts her positioning, resting her knees on the middle of his thighs and rising up. His golden eyes flick to watch her hands as she deftly slides her fingers under each pauldron and releases the clasps that keep his breastplate in place. After tossing the armor gently to the floor she leans in closer, arms threading around his neck and to the back of his head. He huffs softly at the motion.

It takes a moment, but she finds the fine, silken thread that holds the braids encircling his head in place. She breaks it easily, and spends a few minutes carefully untwisting the strands of each orderly plait. Varis sighs at the release. She threads her fingers through his long hair, quietly enjoying the pampered softness of it against her battleworn skin and pulling the fine black circlet free to be placed next to the crown on his desk. He makes a sound almost like a cat purring as she returns her fingers to his head and carefully digs her nails into his scalp. 

Varis’ hands go to her back, supporting her as she kneads at his skin. His breath plays warmly against her neck and chest, and when she looks down she sees his eyes are nearly closed.

“That feels good, hm?”

He nods slightly, but not enough to imbalance her. “How did you know?”

“You forget,” she says. “I usually wear a lot more armor, and some of it isn’t the most comfortable kit in existence. Especially the headgear. Nothing like a nice brain rub after a long day and a half of saving the world.”

Varis chuckles. “I get the feeling that you will not take to being a kept woman.”

“So do I.” She pauses in scratching his scalp. “I’ve had to take care of myself for far too long.”

He hums softly and feathers his lips against her jaw. “That does not mean I cannot try. I would give you the finest of silks and sharpest of blades. Whatever you wanted.”

“Do you always assume a woman wants a sharp sword?”

“Mm, no. You just strike me as the sort of woman who appreciates the finer things when she can get them, down to her weaponry.”

The Warrior laughs softly and combs her fingers down through his long hair. “And how many women have you been with where weapon preference is an issue to be concerned over?”

“Just you.”

“I see.” She does not move from her peculiar perch on his thighs, but lingers against him, eyes half closing as his lips travel down from her jaw and over the side of her throat. “Varis? Can I ask you something? It’s important.”

He makes an uncertain noise and leans back. “Of course. Have a seat.” His hands do not leave her back until she has rearranged herself to sit across his broad thighs.

“Thank you.” She looks up at him and watches the careful neutrality of his expression before asking her question. “Do you really desire me as an ally, or do you just desire to have me in your bed?”

He stares down at her. “Can I not desire both?”

“It is certainly within your purview,” she says. “But, what’s in it for me? Why should I stay here with you, Varis? Why, when I am wanted and needed in Eorzea?”

“Ah.” His brows raise. “A well earned selfishness, to be certain.” The Emperor’s expression turns thoughtful.

After a few minutes, she says: “Don’t get me wrong, Varis. Despite your reputation on the outside of Garlemald, you’ve been a decent enough fellow to me. I mean, you haven’t threatened to have me executed or anything.”

His eyes widen. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Even as an enemy, you are too valuable to this star.” Varis shakes his head. “Though I am loathe to refer to you as merely a tool, you have been a valuable weapon in dealing with both the eikons and the meddlesome Ascians.” He touches her cheek with the soft leather underside of his gauntlet. “And I would be reluctant to do anything that would prevent you from continuing to do so.”

“Then, what am I to do when I am here? Fight for Garlemald? Slay your enemies? Destroy the primals?”

For a long moment he is silent. His eyes, gleaming in the blue glow of the desk lamp, are aimed at her face but focused on her forehead. She can tell he’s thinking hard on his response, and does not press his answer.

When Varis finally speaks again his voice is low and thick in his throat. “Really, I don’t care all that much if you join our cause. That isn’t why I brought you here. That was never why I sought you out again.”

“What do you mean?”

Varis stoops over her and captures her face in his hands. His lips are rough but his touch is delicate. He kisses like a man who has forgotten how, one who has gone decades without anyone to give his breath to. She wonders, as he pulls away, coloring staining his pale cheeks, why it is she that he has chosen.

She whispers: “Varis… why?”

His thumbs brush over her cheeks, and he shakes his head. “Does a man need a reason to want to kiss a woman he admires? That he wants to keep at his side?”

She mouths her question again. Then: “I don’t understand. We scarcely know each other--you can’t possibly think--”

“No man knows his brother when first they meet. Let us come together, Warrior, with the barest of preconceptions to darken our paths.”

She flattens her lips together. “Was that why you had me captured in the Sea of Clouds?”

“It was not planned, but aye. I needed to know if I was wrong in what I thought I saw.” He leans in again, lips ghosting the corner of her mouth. “You were fearless and beautiful, blooming in the fire of the setting sun. And I felt some inkling of a connection, as I have not in years. I had to see you again. I had to know.”

“And now?”

“I would still pursue you, Warrior of Light, even were you to spit in my face and deny my pardon, and try to walk back to Eorzea on foot.”

“Varis, why?”

He kisses her again, still gentle and awkward. She shivers against the sincerity of his touch and turns her face away.

“That isn’t a reason, Varis.”

The Emperor pulls her in tight. There is something soft and anxious in his voice when he speaks again. “Please, Warrior. Take my pardon and stay. If you go back to your Scions and follow them to Gyr Abania, you will be naught but an offering to the rebellion’s flame. You are the Warrior of Light, but if you go my son will hunt you down and kill you.” There is a tremor of fear in the man’s voice, and she wonders what Varis has done to dread his own child so.

“You would have me stay, and let others be sacrificed in my stead?”

The Emperor cries out her name. “Please! They will die regardless of whether you are there or not. I do not want you to be reduced to a disinterested footnote in one of my son’s reports.”

“I cannot just turn my back on them if they need my aid,” she says.

“I need you more!”

The Warrior pulls away and looks up at him. Varis stares down at her, jaw clenched and eyes wide, a sheen of wetness on his lower eyelashes.

“For all I know, this is just some ploy to--” She feels ashamed to accuse him of treachery when he has shown her patience and hospitality that she, as his enemy, has not earned. She does not complete the thought aloud. 

The Emperor grimaces but does not look away. She feels something twist in her breast, and wonders what would happen were the Warrior of Light to not come to the aid of the Scions, just this once.

“Varis, I don’t know how they do it in the royal house of Garlemald, but this is not how you… you... “ She licks her lips. “How you win over a woman. You can’t just lock her away from the rest of her life and her duty.”

The Emperor whispers: “Then, tell me what you would have me do.”

The Warrior of Light thinks. “Prove to me that you aren’t just doing this as a ploy to keep me from aiding in Gyr Abania.”

He swallows. “Anything. Just name it.”

“Withdraw your forces from Ala Mhigo.”

The Emperor grimaces. “I cannot do that. Gyr Abania is too important a foothold for us to give up.”

“You just said ‘anything’, Varis.”

“Within reason. I will not promise you something I cannot give.”

She purses her lips. “What other provinces are currently giving Garlemald trouble?”

“There’s always a few, ‘tis the nature of an empire…” Varis’ brow creases further in thought. “I suppose Doma, most recently.”

“Doma?” She wasn’t familiar with the name. “Where is that?”

“The continent of Othard, on the other side of the world from Eorzea.” Varis squints down at her. “A relatively small kingdom, they had been vassals to Garlemald for a few decades before my grandsire died. They rose in rebellion amidst the war of succession here in Garlemald and drove our forces out.” He hesitates. “When I took power, I had the XIIth Legion, led by my son, go to Doma and crush their rebellion.”

“Fairly recently, then?”

“Perhaps a year, yes. Why do you ask?”

“Let them go.”

“What?” The word barely chokes its way out of his throat.

“That is my condition. Free Doma from the Empire, and I will not go to Gyr Abania for the Scions.”

The Emperor’s gaze is sharp and hawkish as he stares down at her. “You ask a great deal.”

“So do you, Varis.” The Warrior crosses her arms over her chest. “The Eorzean Alliance will likely be coaxed into aiding the Ala Mhigan resistance movement with increasing numbers as fear of invasion by Garlemald grows. You will need more forces to send to aid those already in Gyr Abania. If you free Doma, the forces stationed there can be sent to reinforce those already in Eorzea.”

She watches his eyes dart in thought. “You are a cunning woman, Warrior.”

“I’ve never been lauded as such by my peers, but thank you.” She stares at him. “Well?”

“Give me a month,” the Emperor says. “A month, and I will be able to prove my intent to you.” He removes his right gauntlet and holds out his hand. After a moment of hesitation she clasps her hands to his.

“A month,” she says. “And in the meantime, bring me your pardon. I will take it, to hold you to your word.”

His brows raise. “You will?”

“I will.”

“Thy will be done, Warrior of Light.” Varis squeezes her hand and tugs her in close. When he kisses her again it is hungrier than before. Hungrier, and yet restrained, like a wolf that wants to bite its prey but not tear it to pieces. He stops and nips at her lower lip. “I want you to stay. With me.”

“Of course, Your Radiance,” she says, tightening her grip on his hand. “I have to keep an eye on you.”

He groans lowly. His hand releases hers, and joins his other as they move to grab at her buttocks. She gasps, breath hitching as her back arches to press against him.

He breathes: “Please.”

She shifts her weight in his lap. “Take me to your bed, then. Treat me like you really mean what you’ve been saying.”

Varis moves a hand to hook under her knees. “As the Warrior wills it.”


	5. Chapter 5

The Warrior of Light muses that there are worse ways to wake up. During her years of adventuring and working to save Eorzea she has woken many ways, and at this point is just glad that she has survived all of them.

To wake on a massive, luxuriantly comfortable bed, the weight of an Emperor draped bonelessly over her is certainly one of the more enjoyable ways that she can recall being awakened. Varis is still fast asleep as the first lines of gray morning light peek around the edges of his bedroom curtains. It takes a fair amount of effort to extract herself partially from the blanket of his body. She manages to sit up, her right calf and foot pinned underneath his thigh. He is sleeping on his stomach, which provides her with a very enlightening view of his back and posterior. His skin is pale and peppered with scars here and there, and the Warrior wonders at the decades of combat that has brought him to the relative sanctuary of his royal chambers. 

After a few minutes of admiration of his royal personage, she squirms the rest of the way from underneath him and escapes to the bathroom. When she returns a few minutes later, carefully stepping over discarded pieces of armor, Varis has rolled over onto his back.

“Good morning,” she calls from the edge of the bed. The Emperor huffs softly.

“You really are not one for sleeping in, are you?”

“I would if I could.” The Warrior hops back up onto the bed and crawls across the pale green sheets until she is again at his side. “Would you rather I just lie here and be bored while you sleep the morning away?”

“Yes,” he says grumpily.

“No morning sex, then,” she observes. He grunts, extending a long arm and hooking his hand around her middle. She squeaks out a laugh as he tugs her to him.

“There is a time and place for everything,” Varis said. “And the morning is for preparing to face the day.”

“That’s dull.” The Warrior wiggles her toes. “You should try mixing things up, Varis. Be more flexible.”

“The Empire runs on a schedule, and so do I.”

“You’d never survive as an adventurer,” she teases. “If you came back from a morning bath to find an Ascian nicking all your smallclothes, you wouldn’t know what to do.”

He tips his head to look down at her. “What?”

“A few of them were a bit more peculiar than their darkness and doom brethren,” she muses softly. “We still had to kill him, eventually.”

Varis grunts softly in acknowledgement of her statement. After a few minutes of mutual quiet he asks: “Did you ever get your underthings back from the Ascian?”

“Hm? Oh, no. I never did figure out what he did with them. I suppose he was just sowing his own variety of chaos.”

“Oh.” Quiet again, and when his hold around her middle slackens she realizes he has returned to his slumber. 

The Warrior stares at the light filtering through the curtains and tries to recall how many days she has been at the palace. Four, perhaps? They have blurred together slightly in her memory, and she wonders idly what it will be like to stay here for a whole month. What if she just… never left? Will she be able to continue to help support Eorzea from a distance? She doesn’t like the thought of actively trying to manipulate the Garlean emperor. She is not that sort of person, and Varis does not strike her as the sort to tolerate even well-meaning duplicity. 

She wonders if he will keep his word about Doma.

Varis does not move again until after the morning meal has been delivered to his quarters. The Warrior had to find one of his robes and answer the door. To their credit, the servants have already gotten used to she being the one who greets them in the morning, and not their master. They are incredibly polite to her when she opens the door, and deliver the trays of food and coffee to the sitting room without having to be directed there. Then they are gone back down the long dark hallway, and she is left alone again.

The Warrior sits in her usual spot in the sitting room and helps herself to breakfast. She is on her third slice of toast and second cup of tea when the Emperor finally presents himself to the day. He has put on a pair of loose, dark grey slacks and cottony button-down the color of amber, but his unbound hair is a mess that drapes over his left shoulder.

“You need to shave,” she says in greeting. Varis grumps back at her in a near falsetto before depositing himself in the overstuffed armchair adjacent to the couch where she sits.

“We will have to teach you proper decorum, Warrior,” the Emperor says as he leans on his elbow. She just chuckles and picks up his coffee cup. He takes it from her outstretched hands and drains it halfway before saying: “Thank you.”

“If your subjects saw you like this, they wouldn’t know what to say.” She grins impishly up at him.

He peers at her over the rim of his cup. “They would know better than to say anything.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not one of your subjects.”

“Indeed,” he murmurs.

She watches him fill his plate. “And what exciting plans await the Emperor today, hm?”

“Read some reports. Listen to the radio. Take a nap. Take a bath. Go to bed.”

“That only vaguely sounds productive.”

“It’s Darksday. I don’t have to go to the throne room if I don’t want to.”

“Oh. You get a day off?” It seems a novel concept to the Warrior. She never really gets days off, and is always on call in case the world is about to end. These days at the palace are her first of actual relaxation in more than a year.

“When circumstances permit it, yes.” He sets his cup down and moves to refill it, but she does it for him. He smiles, fingers lingering over hers when she holds the cup out again. “Of course, being the Emperor, I can also just give myself an office day when I wish.”

“How do you get anything done at all?”

“I am duty bound, and have not had any sort of partner to distract me.”

She blushes and looks at her plate. She tries to sound casual as she says: “I’m not your partner, Varis.”

He smirks down at her. “No, but you are a distraction.”

As usual, the Emperor falls silent as he begins to eat. She watches him from the corner of her eye, pondering the loose fit of his clothes and the generally careless air of his appearance. It is strange, she thinks, to see the usually extremely uptight man looking so… relaxed. She knew it had to be possible--it was possible for anyone to relax, especially with enough alcohol. But here the giant sat, his only concern in the world being the food on the plate in front of him. She was rather certain that if she sat still enough, he would forget that she was even there.

She clears her throat as she picks up a piece of cheese from the tray. “I should make contact with the Scions today. To let them know that I’m alive.” She adds, pointedly: “And safe.”

Varis makes a noise to acknowledge her words, but she sees the corner of his mouth tick downward as he lifts his coffee cup.

“Varis, I have to. I’m not going to disappear into your bedroom forever. I have responsibilities.”

He sips his coffee, golden eyes now fixing on her. There is something slightly accusatory to the look, but she can’t determine its cause. “No, I really do have to. You can’t just kiss me and make the rest of the world disappear.”

“I could kiss you again,” he murmurs in a mildly petulant tone. She laughs at his inflection, and he briefly smiles.

“I must call the Scions to give them that peace of mind, alright? I don’t plan on leaving. We agreed on a month.”

“We did.”

She sighs as she picks up her tea and leans back into the couch cushions. “Though, I wouldn’t mind actually leaving your quarters. No offense, of course, but I’m sure there’s more to see here than just these four walls.”

Varis makes a thoughtful noise, but does not say anything else.

Once breakfast is completed and the servants have cleared away the empty trays and plates, Varis takes his cup of coffee and retreats into his study. The Warrior lets him alone for a little while, taking out her pack from where one of the maids tucked it away in one of the Emperor’s clothes bureaus. The old leather is worn and familiar under her fingertips, and seems out of place amongst the careful luxury of the Emperor’s quarters. She feels a twinge of homesickness as she opens the pack and roots through its contents. Amongst the potion jars and mending kits and stray bits of animal she finds a folded piece of parchment. The paper has been in her pack for months now, but she hasn’t had the heart to throw it away when cleaning. It is nothing much, just a series of doodles from Alphinaud of various members of the Scions, drawn one afternoon in Ishgard when they were snowed in after a blizzard. Each image, rendered in the young Elezen’s surprisingly fine hand, is accompanied by a bit of catty commentary from his sister. 

The Warrior sighs and folds the paper before returning it to her bag. She hopes they are all doing well enough without her. She worries for the twins most of all, as they are young and have come to look up to her like an extra sibling.

She does not want to disappoint them.

Pack hanging from her shoulder, the Warrior goes to the study and sits on the couch. She deposits the bag next to her and continues looking though it. Varis is sitting in his desk chair, left arm twisted behind his head as he scratches at his neck. His hair is still a loose and tantalizing mess, but she manages to resist the temptation to set the bag aside and go after him. That can wait until she is done speaking with whatever Scion she can find. 

She eventually finds her linkpearl and activates the device. The sound of static and crackle meets her ear, and she frowns. She wonders if there is interference from within the palace, preventing any spies from communicating within the dark walls. She wishes Cid were around, as she is not technologically inclined enough to figure out how to make the linkpearl work at such a distance.

There is a stirring of the air near the back of her head.

“Give it to me,” the Emperor says. She looks up, and his broad palm is tipped outwards, nearly touching her.

“Don’t break it.”

He just grunts as he takes the linkpearl and peers at it over the rim of his reading glasses. The Emperor pulls open a drawer and retrieves a small thin metal rod, no longer than the first joint of his pinky finger. He leans over to the lamp on his desk and turns the communicator over in his thick fingertips. The Warrior leans against the back of the couch and watches, curious as to what he is doing.

“Where do you expect your allies to be?”

“Um, probably Ishgard or nearby. The Coerthas region.”

“Mor Dhona, then,” he murmurs, and pokes at a spot with the little rod.

The Warrior blushes but doesn’t say anything. Of course his spies and informants would have told him about the Scions’ hideout at the Rising Stones. It was not as though it was an incredibly well kept secret. After all, the Scions were a public organization.

A few careful taps of the device later, and the Emperor holds the linkpearl back out to her.

“It should work now.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Puzzled, the Warrior turns the linkpearl over in her hand, but cannot figure out what the Emperor has done to it. When she activates the device once more, there is a brief spit of static before the standard signal silence. “How did you?”

Varis is already looking back at the report in front of him on the desk. “It’s just a standard linkpearl, nothing special. If I can input the trajectory codes on a transport vessel, I should certainly be able to do a frequency override on a device that old.”

She smiles and settles back into the cushions. “Thank you, Varis.”

“Of course,” he murmurs. The Emperor waves a dismissive hand and puts the little metal rod away. He slides the drawer shut and tips his face away from the couch.

The Warrior tucks the linkpearl into her ear and hits the button to begin transmission.

“Good morning, this is--” She hesitates. “This is the Warrior of Light. Please come in.”

There is the usual hum of silence while she waits for a response. The Warrior wonders how many malms they are from Mor Dhona--and how Varis even could manage to get the device to work over such a distance. She sometimes has trouble getting it to transmit across just the distance of a smaller region, to say nothing of communicating with another continent entirely.

Then there is a crackle, and breathy, excited voice says her name over the line. “Warrior, is that really you?”

She smiles at the boy’s voice. “Yes, Alphinaud, ‘tis I.”

He blurts immediately over the line: “What happened to you? Are you alright? By the Twelve, you just disappeared and left your gear behind and the Garleans wouldn’t say a damned thing and--” He stops, and she can hear him gasping for breath. “We thought you were dead!”

“I’m fine, Alphinaud.”

Once he catches his breath, there is a change in the young man’s tone. She can hear the hesitation plain in Alphinaud’s voice over the line. “N-now. How can I be certain that this is the Warrior of Light that I am speaking to? Why not come speak to us in person?”

She frowns and looks over her shoulder. The Emperor is paying her no mind, staring through his glasses at the report. She lowers her voice and brings her fingers to her ear again.

“I am calling to check on the status of the wild roses. I’m unfortunately too far away right now to be able to inspect them myself.”

She can hear a faint intake of breath over the line. “Understood.” He pauses, and then says: “Full well glad am I to hear your voice, Warrior. We had feared the worst for you when you disappeared after fighting Zurvan.”

“I know. I should have said something. I’m sorry I didn’t--there just wasn’t time.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons. It was a fright, that’s all.”

She sighs. “I truly am sorry, Alphinaud. But I had to hurry.” She feels bad for having made the Scions worry. “Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes. Fortunately the Imperials left us alone once the primal had been felled. I believe they were more preoccupied with their own escape. We made it out safely once we… Well, once we determined that you were indeed gone.” He made an uncertain noise. “We collected your gear for you. It’s at the Rising Stones.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Yes. We need you to make your way back to the Rising Stones, Warrior, so you can collect everything when you return. There is a great trouble brewing and the Scions have been asked to aid in the cause. And, naturally your presence is requested.”

“Gyr Abania, then?”

“Ye--how did you know that?”

She purses her lips as she hears the soft creak of the chair Varis is occupying. He is listening to her, now.

“I’m sorry, Alphinaud, but I cannot come and assist the Scions. Not for this.”

“What? Why not? What’s wrong, Warrior?”

“Nothing is wrong, not exactly. I’m just busy with business here.”

There is something confused and wary in Alphinaud’s tone. “And where is ‘here’, Warrior?”

She swallows. “Garlemald.”

“What?!” The young man sputters in disbelief. “What are you doing in--”

“I’m sorry, I am. But, I can’t explain right now. I’ll be in touch. Farewell.”

“Warrior--” Alphinaud’s protest goes silent as she disables the linkpearl and removes it from her ear. She can feel the Emperor’s gaze on her back.

His pale eyes are indeed focused on her through the lenses of his glasses as she moves to return the linkpearl to her pack. She sighs so hard it feels as though her lungs might collapse.

“You chose to stay here,” he says in a careful tone. She nods.

“For now, yes. The Scions are… being called to Gyr Abania, to aid in the burgeoning resistance movement. Just as you said they would. And, of course, they are wanting my aid.”

“Of course,” he echos. “You would choose Garlemald over the well being of your allies?”

“No,” she says. The Emperor’s eyes remain fixed on the Warrior as she makes her way over to the desk. “But, for now, I am choosing to stay here. I am choosing you and your pardon, Varis.”

He whispers: “Why?”

She reaches and traces her fingertips over the sharp lines of his cheek. “You told me yourself, remember? You need my Light more than anyone else right now, and I am a champion for those in need.”

“Your Light?” Varis says. His brows pinch together, and she thinks he almost looks worried. “What does that even mean?”

She traces her finger over his upper lip before gently tapping the tip of his nose. “I would be lying were I to say I knew exactly. I just know that right now, I need to be here. Something set the fates to bring me here, Varis. Don’t you think so?”

“I--” The Emperor falters, and he catches her wrist in his big hand. “I do. And I--I want you to stay here, with me, for as long as you deem necessary.”

“Or at least a month, Varis. You have that long.”

He grimaces at the reminder. “Yes, a month. I know.”

“You aren’t going to boast now that you can do it in less?”

“No.” For a moment he grits his teeth. “Your request involves a great deal of difficult and delicate political maneuvers. It is not as simple as waving my hand and ordering it done.”

“Oh. What’s the point of being the Emperor if you can’t just snap your fingers and will something wrought?”

He blinks, and briefly looks puzzled. “That was how my grandsire liked to do things. But I will not throw things so willingly into chaos on a whim. The entire fabric of the Empire must be considered when making such decisions. A few carelessly pulled threads could ruin the whole weave. Withdrawing from Doma will affect more people than just the citizens of that province.”

“Wise words, from so young a ruler.”

“Ah, I’m not--” Varis’ brown wrinkles for a moment as he looks away. “Thank you.”

“I mean it.” She gently pulls her wrist free and moves her hand to comb through his hair. “Though, I may have to stick around longer just to make sure you don’t go messing things up as soon as I turn my back.”

He swallows. “Perhaps so.”

After the mid-day meal Varis makes his way to his bedroom. The Warrior follows him without prompting. She sits perched on the edge of his bed, the Emperor’s oversized robe wrapped around her. Varis is quiet as he removes his clothing.

“Why don’t you have an attendant help you with your armor?”

He rumbles thoughtfully in his throat. “When I was younger I did,” he says, slowly unbuttoning the amber hued top. “But I stopped some time ago. It made me uncomfortable.”

“It made you feel vulnerable,” she says. He shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Perhaps.”

“I could go sit in your study or someplace else, if it would make you feel more at ease.”

Varis quirks a pale brow at her as he lets the broad swath of cotton crumple to the cold floor. “That will not be necessary, Warrior. After all, I have already seen you without any attire. It would be churlish of me to deny you the same.”

She blushes. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He continues his undressing. “Besides, I have nothing to hide. I keep the worst of me on the inside.” The Emperor winks down at her.

She murmurs: “Don’t we all?” 

The Warrior stares at Varis once he is completely nude. Even without all his usual layers of armor on, he is still massive. She is reminded of a sculpture she once saw, where the proportions were slightly off. The effect is similar here, except skewed toward the end of ‘does any man really need legs that long, or thighs that thick?’

The answer, she thinks, is a definite ‘yes’. 

He turns and starts towards the bathing room. “You can stay here, or you can join me.”

She scrambles off the bed and follows him.

The bathing room and its oversized tub are already familiar to the Warrior. She watches as Varis pads barefoot along the tiled floor. He hits a small switch to activate the stopper and then turns on the water. Her gaze shifts lower and she watches the muscles of his long legs flex as he steps down into the basin. There is refined power there, in those dominant muscles and casual movements, and it plucks a chord of warmth between her thighs.

“You are wasted sitting on a throne, Varis,” she murmurs. He half turns to look at her.

“Hm?” He scrubs his fingers through his hair, and she cannot tell if he is intentionally striking a pose at her. She is surprised to find that part of her wants him to, wants him to want her--

“I just, I know a good fighter when I see one.”

He smirks. “As do I. And I have spent most of my life fighting and earning these scars, so that I might ‘waste’ away on the throne.” He turns away and stoops to disengage the flow of water. “Not that I get much time to actually sit there.”

“It’s a lot of work for one man.”

Varis makes a noise of agreement, but then says: “It is what I wanted.”

She watches him turn slowly, the water curling around his calves before he sits. Varis leans against the side of the tub, bracing his arms along the wall and tilting his head back. Her eyes following the line of his throat down to his chest, the scars painted over the muscles, and the blue gleam of the ceruleum lights on the fine pale hairs that trace down the length of his torso. She stares down at him and wonders how any one person could be so very… beautiful.

The Warrior fidgets in the space between the tub and the doorway. She wants to follow him, but is reluctant to intrude on his quiet.

He says her name, thick and teasing over his tongue. “Do you need an invitation to come in?”

She jerks and laughs softly. “No, I just…”

Varis looks up at her from where he has settled in the massive tub. “Have you ever had sex in a tub before, Warrior?”

She is embarrassed by how easily the question makes her blush when it is rumbled out of his throat. “Ah, well, yes. It gets cold in Ishgard.”

Varis looks amused. “Not the answer I was expecting.”

She plays with the edge of the robe. “What, you think being a hero makes me too prim and proper to enjoy myself? There’s nothing strange about having a good time while enjoying a warm bath.”

His golden eyes are burning as he stares at her. “Take off the robe, and I’ll see if I agree.”

The robe unbelts easily, and she lets it slither down her body into a pile on the tiled floor. “If you insist, Your Radiance.”

Varis smirks up at her and extends a hand. “I do. Come here, Warrior.”

She takes his hand, and he holds it securely as she carefully steps into the warm water. “Thank you.”

He gives her hand a small tug and kisses her knuckles. “I would not want you to slip and hurt yourself.”

The Warrior kneels next to him in the water. “Wouldn’t that be a funny report to have read? ‘Warrior of Light drowns in the Emperor’s bathtub’. Of course, the news reporters would try and find a way to sensationalize it somehow.”

He chuckles. “As though that headline weren’t interesting enough on its own.”

His hair wanders in silvery coils around his shoulders, and she reaches to brush a few damp strands away from his face. She has to admit that she is curious as to what the man washed his hair with, but that curiosity was overridden in her mind by the fact that she could see the man’s erection bobbing in the clear water. He sees the Warrior’s gaze and takes her hand, guiding her fingers underwater until they brush against him.

“It doesn’t take much to get you worked up, hm?”

“On the contrary,” he purrs. “I have to spend all day keeping a straight face and proper poise. I can only allow myself such… pleasures, when I am in private.”

“Or in a prison cell,” she quips. The Emperor grunts softly at the reminder.

“Believe me, on the  _ Gration _ , that cell was far more private than the quarters I used.” Varis moves his free hand to where her knees are braced on the floor of the tub. His fingers trace fine wet lines along her skin until they disappear between her thighs. She gasps involuntarily as one of his thick fingers sinks into her.

“A-ah, well. Glad to hear you aren’t an exhibitionist.” Her hips twitch. “A proper gentleman, wasn’t that it?”

“I do try.” Varis sits up some, water sheeting down his chest as it emerges from the water line. She scoots closer and moves to straddle his thighs. The motion dislodges his finger from inside her, and he chuckles softly. “Not feeling so proper yourself, tonight?”

“N-no!” She rises up enough to allow him access, and then curls her fingers around his shaft. Varis rumbles approvingly as she guides the tip to her entrance.

“Help yourself, then, dear Warrior.”

She does so, guiding the head into her before flexing her legs and lowering herself into his lap in a single, smooth motion. She does not stop until he is hilted inside her. Her voice peaks into a blissful moan that echoes in the bathing room, and nearly drowns out Varis’ own groan of pleasure. His fingers feather over her lower abdomen before moving to grip at her hips. She waits a few minutes, rolling her hips slowly as her inner walls relax to fully accommodate him.

“You feel good,” she murmurs, slouching forward enough to grip at his shoulders. She uses the leverage to rise up, letting the thick shaft slide halfway out. Varis makes an agreeing noise, but says nothing, his breath coming in little focused puffs as she lowers herself back down his length. “So-oh!” After a few repetitions of the motion, his own hips start to move beneath her, rocking up to meet her body as she lowers herself again and again. The water sloshes around them as she rides him with increasing fervor, crying out his name in keening bits and pieces.

It is not long before Varis picks up his own pace, the powerful muscles of his legs flexing as he pounds into her.

Eventually she cannot keep up with him, her thighs trembling as she leans against his frame. The Emperor does not slow down, and she tilts her head to breathily gasp encouragement up to his ear. 

Varis cries out her name, and his strong hands hold her in place as his pounding stops with a final upward thrust. There is a heavy rush of warmth deep inside her, and she gasps as she realizes he has filled her with his seed.

“Oh--oh, Varis--” She bites her lip, feeling him pulse inside her. “Oh, you--”

“Shh,” he hisses breathlessly. There is a final twitch within her, and the Warrior tries to fight down a rush of alarm at the thought of having been bred by the emperor of Garlemald.

“But, I don’t--we shouldn’t--”

His fingers release her hip to brush lightly over her stomach. “There is no cause for alarm. I will acquire some contraceptives from the court alchemist.” His tone is calm, and his lack of alarm over their recklessness somehow makes her feel a little better.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.” He strokes his fingers along her abdomen, and she shivers. “I am certain that the Warrior of Light has better things to be doing with her time then to stop and have a child.”

“And the Emperor does not need to sully his bloodline with a savage,” she says.

Varis grunts softly, but it is a non-committal noise. “I already have an heir. That would not be a concern.” He looks away. “However, I would not want to direct unnecessary violence toward you by being so careless as to let that sort of thing happen.”

“Thank you, Varis.” She leans forward, settling her weight atop him, the soft mounds of her breasts pressing against the firm muscles of his chest. His softened member slips out of her, and she feels the trickle of his seed escaping her to mix with the warm bath water. She squirms a bit, body disliking the sudden emptiness, her inner walls clenching in futility.

He chuckles as she squirms again. “My, but you are quite the fan of sex in the bath, as you claimed.”

She licks and nips at his collarbone. “You felt good inside me.”

“I could quite concur.” The Emperor tilts his head back, baring his long throat to her. “Once I have acquired the appropriate preventatives, I should like for another chance to come inside you, so long as you are willing.”

“As long as we’re both careful, I don’t see why n--ahh!!” She cries out against his pale skin as his fore and middle fingers push into her slit. Her muscles squeeze needily on him, hips jerking toward his hand. “Varis!”

“I cannot leave you wanting,” he murmurs as he thrusts his fingers into her. His fingers curl against the sensitive spot inside her, and she sings for him as she rides his fingers. She groans when he adds the third finger, and quivers helplessly as the pad of his thumb rolls in a steady circle over her clit.

When she comes she screams against his skin. Her muscles finally relax, and she settles against him, mind melting away into bubbles in the water. The Emperor’s fingers withdraw from her, and both palms smooth along her back until her body stops trembling. 

Varis hits the latch to let the water drain out before refilling the tub. He is quite careful not to jostle her, of which she is appreciative. She does not want to move--he is very comfortable.

After a few minutes, the Emperor murmurs: “I do believe I agree with you, Warrior. That was an enjoyable experience.”

She laughs languidly against his chest. Varis tips his chin down and presses his lips to her forehead.

In time, they leave the bathtub behind. He wraps her in a heavy towel and rubs her body dry, then retrieves the discarded robe from the bathing room floor and wraps her flushed skin in the shimmering green silk. The Warrior follows him, half in a daze, as he returns to the bedroom and pulls the loose, dark slacks back up the length of his legs.

Varis leads the way to the study and gently nudges her toward the couch. While she sits and makes herself comfortable, the Emperor goes and opens the paneled doors of a cabinet that sits amongst the bookshelves. Inside, next to a lightly stocked sideboard, is a device of black metal that reminds her, superficially at least, of the orchestrions she has seen scattered amongst the taverns and inns of Eorzea. Varis looks at the glowing numbers of the wall clock and shakes his head with a sigh.

“Do you drink?”

“When it’s safe,” the Warrior says. Varis hums softly and picks a bottle from the sideboard, and fills two small glasses with an amber liquid. The bottle is put away, and he roughly bumps his thumb against a button on the front of the black orchestrion. The device hums to life, and as Varis picks up the glasses and joins her on the couch, a voice lilts out of the device. She catches a brief grimace on the Emperor’s face at the sound of the voice. It is somewhat high and undeniably arrogant, but also possessive of some strange, radiantly charming quality that the Warrior cannot pinpoint. She feels as though she has heard the man speak somewhere before.

“The Capital radio likes to replay his old saber rattling speeches on Darksday evenings,” Varis says. He holds out one of the glasses of amber. “Sip.”

“Thank you.” She takes a sip, and the liquor bites at her tongue. “If you don’t like listening, then why do you?”

Varis settles back into the cushions. “I don’t usually, not this early. They play music later.”

She can sense his unease and scoots closer to him, offering her warmth to his left side. His free arm moves, wrapping loosely around her back, hand coming to rest on her hip. Varis takes a sip from his glass and sighs.

“So, the man on the, uh, radio. That is…?”

“That was, you mean. Solus zos Galvus. My grandsire. I was a young man when this was recorded. Even back then he already seemed impossibly ancient. But it did not hold him back, not until the end.” Varis does nothing to mask the dislike in his voice.

“Why play it, if he’s dead?”

Varis takes another sip, staring hard at the glass. “Because the great Founding Father of our nation will never die. He lives with us still.”

“Ah.” That sort of indoctrination can be dangerous, she thinks.

They sit, emptying their glasses, as the radio continues the old speech. She does not listen closely to the dead Emperor’s words. Something about the man’s voice makes it difficult to focus on what exactly he is saying. By the time the recording concludes, Varis is rolling his empty glass in his fingers and muttering along.

“...and we shall stand united, rising whole and glorious. A guiding light for the whole star to follow.”

The clock on the wall chimes the hour precisely as the speech ends. Varis closes his eyes and huffs softly.

“Good riddance,” he mutters. Varis takes the empty glass from her fingers and sets the pair on the end table. There is a moment of silence from the radio, and then music begins to play. There is the sound, pitched with longing, of a violin, pursued by the notes of a piano.

She scoots closer before toppling over, pressing her back along his thighs and crossing her arms behind her head. Varis looks down at her, head tipped in curiosity. His hand moves to cover her cheek, and a content smile works its way onto his lips.

She likes the look far more than the grimace that he saved for his dead grandsire.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes two more days before the Warrior of Light grows listless enough in the Emperor’s quarters to seek some kind of escape. With Varis’ permission, and a surprisingly well drawn map from the Emperor himself, she ventures out into the private wing of the palace. She is escorted at a distance by one of Varis’ private bodyguards--she still isn’t completely clear on which was which, but it is the woman whose armor was accented in blue--so that she does not get herself into any trouble. Or, should the map fail her, so she will not get lost amongst the endless identical hallways.

“Is there anything you would recommend looking at?” she asks over her shoulder. The guard gives her an inquisitive head tilt, but doesn’t respond. “Mm.” The Warrior unfolds the map that Varis inked out before kissing her on the forehead and making his way off to a meeting. “There has to be a way outside…” He had marked relevant hallways but not any exterior doors.

The hallways of the private wing are a bit cooler than she has become accustomed to in Varis’ quarters, and she is glad for the cloak he has procured for her.

“A building this large, there has to be exits in case of an emergency, right?” She stops and turns more directly to face the guard. “Help me out here… Julia, yes?”

The guard’s face is angled towards her, but for all the Warrior knows the woman has her eyes closed behind the faceplate of her armor and is trying to ignore her.

Then, to her surprise, the guard gives her a proper Imperial salute. “Julia quo Soranus. His Radiance said nothing about you leaving the palace, only that I am to ensure your safety and direction.” There is a strange turn to the woman’s voice, almost admiring. “Though, you are the champion of the savages, yes? There’s been much gossip about you, even before your arrival here.”

“Ah, yes, that’s me. Warrior of Light and all the hearsay that goes with it.” She smiles at the guard.

“May I see the map His Radiance provided you?”

She nods, and the guard studies it for a moment. An armored finger taps at a spot on the map. “Here. There is an exit out to one of the courtyards at the end of this hallway. Though, there will not be much to see. There was another snowstorm last night.”

“Thank you, Julia.”

The guard nods and hands back the map. The Warrior considers the location that was indicated. It is not terribly far from a large room that Varis has simply noted as LIBRARY in his heavy handed lettering. “Good as any place to start. Let’s go.”

The guard says nothing, but follows a bit more closely behind than before.

Another few minutes of walking and they reach the promised exit door that Julia has indicated on the map. The Warrior tries one of the black metal handles, and is relieved when the lock releases and the door creaks open. She flinches as a gust of frigid air strikes her cheeks, but still dares to press on a few steps outside.

There is, as Julia had warned, not a great deal to see outside. The black and gray exterior, all stone and metal and glass, reaches up to the sky. The ground is covered with a heavy layer of snow, and the drapery of snow over the roofs of the palace softens the sharp edges. Everything gleams in the bright morning light. 

Julia stops a yalm behind her and tilts her head back, letting out a soft noise of pleasure. “Oh. What a lovely day.”

The Warrior looks up as well. The sky is brilliant and blue and without a single smudge of cloud. A few small transport crafts hum as they fly overhead. She inhales deeply, letting the cold air sting at her lungs before exhaling again.

“Lady Warrior?” Julia’s voice drifts down to her through the still air, and she turns to look at the guard.

“Yes?”

“His Radiance has taken you into his confidence. We don’t know why, and truthfully it is none of our business. But we--my sister and I--we would ask something of you.”

“Go on.”

“We are sworn to his protection,” Julia says. “But we are limited in our charge. We cannot always be where he goes. Not behind certain closed doors. We have heard that he gave you a pardon, and would hope that you will not betray that.”

The Warrior frowns and shivers against the wind. “The Emperor has shown me an undue amount of generosity with his time and attention. I would not dare think to betray his hospitality.”

“Thank you.”

She considers the blue bowl of the sky overhead. “If I may ask, Julia. Do you think Emperor Varis is a good man?”

The guard makes an uncertain noise. “It is difficult to be a good man in Garlemald.”

“Then it is much the same as in Eorzea.”

Julia gives a stiff nod. “As such, you will understand that it is best for you to make that judgment yourself.”

“I do, yes.”

“Thank you, my Lady.”

She rubs her arms through her cloak. “I think I’ve had enough fresh air for one day. Don’t you?”

The guard just nods silently.

The Warrior is glad for the relative warmth of the halls when she returns inside. She looks to the map again, and heads toward the library. She doesn’t want for any books while staying in the Emperor’s quarters, but during her exploration and adventuring, she has always found that a library is always a source of interest. 

Julia waits outside the doors, claiming a dislike of the smell of the place. The Warrior wonders how she can smell anything at all through her helmet, but does not press the issue. Beyond the gilded double doors, the private library of the Imperial palace awaits, and it does not disappoint in its grandeur. It is split amongst two levels, done up in white and gold, standing out brilliant and curiously cold amongst the dark comfort of the rest of the palace. The walls are lined with bookshelves, floor to vaulted ceiling, and she is certain that she wouldn’t be able to count all the books in this lifetime, let alone even read the names along the spines.

Dotted among the immense sea of books there are breaks in the shelves, and these gaps are filled with paintings and sculpture. Most of the paintings are of scenery from around the star, but at the center of the upper floor there is a painting of a man. He has a youngish look to him, with a soft face carved into a carefully arrogant expression. The man is garbed in some variety of Imperial parade regalia. She isn’t sure at first, as the man’s hair is short and brown with a white streak framing the right of his face, but when she looks into his bright yellow eyes she knows who he is.

“Solus zos Galvus,” she murmurs. It is strange, she thinks, but aside from the sulfuric shine to his eyes, Varis looks almost nothing like his grandfather.

Staring up at the painting of the former emperor, the Warrior feels a prickle along the back of her neck. A sense of danger--her Echo sparking to life, warning her that something wicked is drawing near. The Warrior turns slowly, surveying the expanse of the library, but is quickly able to determine that she is alone. If anything, it almost feels as though the painting is watching her.

But, that is silly.

The Warrior leaves the library and continues her exploration of the halls. It is curious, she thinks, that she does not run into anyone else while wandering. Her only interaction with another person is with Julia, who remains quiet and attentive a few yalms behind her. 

“Where is everyone else?” she wonders aloud. “Where is the rest of the royal family?”

Julia does not reply, which tells her that the answer is unpleasant and not something she is meant to discuss. The Warrior frowns, unable to shake an uneasy feeling, as though some phantom from the library has clung to her boot heel.

“It is not something to fret over,” the guard finally says. “His Radiance prefers to keep to himself.”

Deciding that this answer is better than nothing at all, she continues down a long, unremarkable hallway. Eventually she reaches the point of the map that Varis has noted as being near the accessway to the throne room. She thinks the little jagged lines are indicative of a series of staircases, but can’t be certain without asking. He has also marked an X near the doorway, with a small note not to go past that point.

She stops at the door in question, and supposes that it is time for her to turn around and go back to Varis’ quarters. It is nearly time for the mid-day meal, and that is as good a reason as any to end her morning’s adventure. She is about to turn around when the double doors fling open. Varis stands there, hands on the door handles. His eyes widen slightly and he stares down at her. She stares back. She can hear Julia’s heels shift on the tiled floor as she salutes the Emperor.

After a long moment of nearly awkward silence, the corners of his mouth quirk upwards, and Varis steps through the doors.

“Ah, I see that you managed to find your way all the way here.”

The Warrior gestures with the map. “Yes, your drawings were quite accurate. My lord.” She tacks that on at the end, just in case someone is on the other side of the door and listening.

Varis chuckles softly, and his posture relaxes into a less rigid stance. “Well, then. Since you are here, might I invite you to join me for the mid-day meal? No sense in having to traverse all the way back to my quarters.”

She looks down at her exceedingly casual clothing. “Are you sure I’m dressed for that?”

“I say you are.” Varis holds out his hand. “Please, join me.”

She nods and presses her fingers into his palm. The leather of the gauntlet is warm from his skin as his fingers close around her hand.

The Emperor leads her through the forbidden doorway. There is indeed a guard standing there, one in non-descript armor that she does not recognize.

“Julia, go ahead and send a belay order to your sister,” the Emperor says. Behind them, she hears the chirp of a linkpearl. Varis tilts his head toward the Warrior. “Annia is the one who usually informs the kitchen of when I return to my quarters.”

“Oh. You’re ruining the mystique for me, Lord Varis.”

He chuckles warmly and they descend a stairwell. A short walk down an adjacent hall brings them to what the Warrior can only presume is the main dining room of the palace. It is a long, spacious affair, occupied primarily by a table that could easily seat nearly two dozen people. She puzzles at the excess as Varis makes his way to one end of the table. The chair at the end is a bit larger and more ornate than the rest, obviously for his royal personage. There are place settings in front of every chair, but she can’t imagine that they have all been used recently, and wonders if some poor retainer has to dust and clean the whole mess on a daily basis. There are more chairs here than she’s seen indication of people since she arrived at the palace, and the Warrior is rather certain that the servants are not permitted to dine here.

Varis pulls out one of the chairs adjacent to his and gestures for her to be seated. It is not long before the servants arrive with the usual trays of food that they bring for the mid-day meal, and the Warrior is relieved for at least that aspect of familiarity.

The atmosphere of the nearly empty dining room is not as comfortable as the privacy of Varis’ sitting room, but she does her best to tune that out and focus on the Emperor. He is quiet, as ever, but his attention is on her. He smiles as she ignores most of the table setting and just selects a spoon for her soup. 

After a few minutes of quiet she clears her throat, the lack of anyone else entering the expansive dining hall making her uncomfortable.

“Varis?”

“Mm?” He is cutting his slice of roasted game into small pieces, and does not look up from the task.

“Where is everyone else? I mean, this is a lot of table for two people.”

The movement of his fork and knife pauses. She keeps her gaze on his hands, wondering if she’s overstepped in her words.

Finally he murmurs: “It is even more table for just one person.”

The Warrior doesn’t say anything, just watches him eat. His posture is stiff and proper, even though there is no one else around to judge how well he is playing the part of emperor. She reaches out and presses her hand into the soft cloth of his sleeve. His head declines slightly to look at her, brows drawing together. She squeezes his arm before letting him go.

Varis exhales in a faint sigh. “After the passing of my grandsire, most of the royal family chose to live elsewhere in the city. I cannot say I blame them; the atmosphere here was less than pleasant in the final few years before his death.” Varis sights down the length of the table. “This table was never full. It seemed to give the old man some sort of comfort.” He shakes his head and picks up his glass of wine.

“And you?”

“I… sent the family that remained as far away as possible.”

She does not ask. She knows of whom the Emperor speaks. Instead she idly taps the edge of her spoon against her soup bowl.

“I think I rather prefer taking my meals in your sitting room, Your Radiance.”

“Yes,” he says. “As do I.”

She sips her soup, and he quietly spears little pieces of meat onto his fork.

“So, what sort of adventure did you have in the palace, today?”

The Warrior blinks, not having expected him to bother with more conversation. He is usually quieter back in his quarters. “Oh, not much. I figured out how to get outside, had a look around. The sky was lovely today.”

He swallows and reaches for his glass. “Is it? I haven’t been outside today. Too busy.”

She smiles. “Yes, bright blue sky. But, it was a bit colder than I’m dressed for, so I didn’t stay out very long. Then I used your map to find the library. It’s very impressive, but…”

Varis makes a curious noise as she trails off.

“I’ve been in a lot of libraries, you know,” she says, trying to divert the subject away from the uncomfortable feeling the palace library had left her with. “They’re always interesting, especially if you find one in some old abandoned ruins. There’s always old tomes and knick knacks and other things that give you a feel for the people who left it behind.”

“And, what did our library tell you?”

She considers her answer, then coyly says: “That your grandfather must have enjoyed reading a great deal.”

Varis blinks, and then chuckles softly. “I never saw him with a book in hand, if I am being honest. But, I’m sure that he was quite proud of his collection.”

“It was impressive, to be sure,” she murmurs. The Warrior picks up a piece of bread and hurriedly stuffs a hunk of it into her mouth, hoping to stall any more questions.

After the meal is over, Varis leads her back down the long halls and in the direction of his quarters. The Warrior is glad for this, as she is not entirely certain she wouldn’t get lost trying to find her way back without the map. Not yet, at least.

“I feel a bit bad about having you here,” the Emperor murmurs as they pace the length of a hall, he minding the length of his stride against hers.

“What do you mean?”

“For one such as you, this must be terribly boring.”

She considers her answer. “Perhaps a bit. Though, adventuring isn’t constant excitement. There is a great deal of just sitting around and waiting for something to happen.”

“What do you do, then?”

The Warrior squeezes the crook of his elbow as she thinks. “Oh, you know. Mend my gear. Work on various little crafting projects that I’m trying to get better at. Look for useful plants… Mostly training, though.”

“Combat training, you mean?”

“Well, I am the ‘Warrior’ of Light, Varis. Though I may have been gifted with prowess and power in combat, it still takes a lot of practice to keep my mind and body sharp.”

His lips pinch in a thoughtful pout, and he doesn’t seem to notice when they reach the end of the red carpet in front of his quarters.

“Varis?”

He blinks and looks up. “Oh, yes.” The Emperor unlocks the door and holds it open. “After you, Warrior.”


	7. Chapter 7

The Warrior has to admit, she feels a distinct sense of relief when her menses start. That means that the pills that Varis had acquired from the alchemist are indeed doing their job, and she has nothing to worry about when intimately enjoying herself with the Emperor. The sense of relief lasts only for a few minutes, before she scrambles to a cabinet and retrieves her pack. Cursing several of the Twelve in sequence, she is dismayed to find that she has not properly replenished her supplies after the previous moon--things had been chaotic in Ishgard then and she had not had time to think of such matters. Now it is too late, and she is going to suffer for it.

She downs the last of the sweet slurry in her bottle of pain tonic and makes her way into the bathing room. Despite checking every cabinet and drawer in the room, she can find no sign of anything that might have been meant as a pain reliever.

“You honestly can’t tell me that you’re never in pain, you big--” The Warrior huffs softly and presses her forehead against the cold glass of the mirror. “Shit, shit, shit.”

This is how, when he returns to his quarters to have his mid-day meal with the Warrior, the emperor of Garlemald comes to find the woman on the floor of the bathtub. She is nude and curled on her side, her eyes not quite closed as she shivers. He notes the thin line of red tracing down to the drain.

His voice is cautious as he calls her name. “Are you alright?”

The Warrior grimaces and squeezes her eyes shut. “Well, now I’m embarrassed in addition to waiting for the sweet release of death.”

She hears the clink and rattle of his armor as he kneels next to the tub.

“Tell me what is wrong.”

“I am suffering, as is a woman’s work. I will be fine.” She presses her cheek against the cold porcelain and shivers again. “The first day is just always the worst.”

“The first…?”

“Day of my menses.”

“Oh.” He makes a thoughtful noise. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“How lucky for you.” She huffs softly in pain at another knife-twist from below. “On the plus side, you don’t have to execute the alchemist.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true…”

She opens her eyes to find him peering down at her, a careful look of concern on his face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“What? You’re suffering, how do you want me to look at you? Let me help you, Warrior. I can’t just leave you lying in the bottom of the tub for the next half-week.”

The Warrior bites back another sarcastic reply. Instead she mutters: “This is my fault. I lost track of the date.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s always three days after the full moon,” she mumbles into her forearm. “But, I’ve barely seen the sky since I got here, so how was I supposed to know it was past the full moon already?” She groans and shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“That you have to see me like this.”

“If you’re referring to the blood, I have spent the last thirty winters going from one battlefield to the next,” the Emperor says, his voice soft. “I have likely seen more blood than you have in you to bleed out.”

She laughs despite the pain, and he smiles.

“Now then,” Varis says. “What can I get for you, to get you out of the tub?”

“Ah, um… before you go running off, go to my pack. It’s on your bed. There should be what looks like a brown sackcloth pillow. About the size of your hand. Lumpy. Bring me that.”

The Emperor gives her an inquisitive look, but does as he is asked. When he returns a few minutes later, he is holding the object she requested.

“I need to have more attire arranged for you,” he notes as he holds out his hand. “There’s nothing left in there, and I can’t have you just sit around wearing my dressing gown all day.” He pauses. “Well, I can, but--”

“One thing at a time, Your Radiance.” She turns the pouch over, fingers feeling over its lumpy surface until she finds a larger lump than the rest. Here she focuses a bit of her aether, until the pouch grows warm to the touch.

“What is it?” he asks.

“My heating pad.” The Warrior leans against the wall of the bathtub and presses the pouch to her lower abdomen. She lets out a content sigh. “It’s full of rice, and a small fire aspected crystal. I activate the crystal, and it heats the rice.”

Varis’ brow furrows. “What keeps the rice from burning?”

She manages not to roll her eyes up at him. “The crystal is just very warm. It’s not on fire. Not enough heat transfers for that.”

“Oh.” He turns his head away and mutters under his breath about not understanding magic. Then he clears his throat: “What else did you need?”

“Painkillers, mostly. And something to use so I don’t just bleed into my clothing.” She tips her head against the porcelain. “And something to wear, I should suppose.”

“I will… see what I can find for you.”

The Warrior nods as she watches him go, and then taps more aether into the crystal.

She has half dozed off by the time he returns. Varis grips a black leather satchel in his gloved hands, and wears a determined look on his face.

“I have returned,” he announces. “Do you feel any better?”

“Mm.” The Warrior rolls her head to her right shoulder and sighs at a faint crack the motion causes. “Marginally. Any luck on your venture?”

“More than I had expected.” He sits next to the tub on the cold floor, cloak flaring out behind him and long legs stretching out along the length of the basin. He removes his gauntlets and sets them aside before opening the satchel. “I ran into--well, not coincidentally, they were waiting for me--but my bodyguards were waiting for me when I left. They seemed to know that something was afoot.” He squints at the Warrior and leans toward her. “Is there some sort of female hive-mind that I am not aware of?”

She just smirks at him and shakes her head. He sighs and pulls out a small glass bottle.

“They assisted me in gathering supplies for you. Said I needed to introduce you to the alchemist, so you could take care of yourself.”

“That was nice of them.”

He grunts and gestures with the bottle. “Pain relieving tonic. Annia insisted that you know to ask for ‘the good stuff’ from the alchemist. I’m quite certain this might be the same concoction they give to men on the battlefield when they’re having a limb amputated.” He sets the bottle down next to him. “Don’t take it on an empty stomach.”

“Hm. That might be strong enough.”

“I would hope so.” Next he retrieves a bundle of strips of undyed cotton cloth. “For the blood. Julia said that if they are rinsed properly after usage it is fine to send them out with the standard laundry.”

“Anything else?”

“There is more of the tonic and cloths in the satchel.” Varis’ fingers twist for a moment in the bag’s leather strap. “If you stay longer than this month, I will arrange for things to be acquired for you ahead of the full moon.”

“That…. Thank you, Varis.”

“And when you’re feeling more yourself, I’ll have to send for the court tailor. The man barely works since my grandsire died. We might as well give him something to do, since he’s still getting paid for being here.” The Emperor lighty picks at the silk sleeve of the robe. “You need some attire more appropriate for our climate.”

She gives a flustered laugh and shakes her head. “You don’t have to go to all that trouble, Varis.”

“Perhaps not, but I can still do it if I want to.”

“Ah, yes. Will of the Emperor and all.” He nods his head and she sighs. “And what else does His Radiance will for me today?”

“For right now? Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

She frowns. “Don’t you have more important business to attend to this afternoon?”

“The Senate would say yes, as they’re currently in the midst of several days of badgering me about some of the orders I’ve put forward this week. But, they’re not the Emperor, so I can postpone the next meeting with them until tomorrow.”

She blushes. “Varis. You’re being irresponsible.”

He blinks a few times and then smiles at her. “Really? It almost sounds like a nice thing when you say it, Warrior.” Varis takes her hand and kisses at her knuckles. “How about we run a bit of warm water for you, and you can wash up. I’ll get something for you to wear.”

The Emperor is gone for several minutes while she sits in a few inches of warm water. She wonders at the man’s behavior, as most men she has dealt with over the years simply choose to give her a wide berth during ‘that time of the moon’, as though she might turn into some frightening beast while under Menphina’s sway. It isn’t as though she wants to put up with this, what woman would? And yet Varis acts as though it were nothing, no problem, just another task to see through with his usual attention to detail.

It is refreshing, if not nearly overwhelming.

When the Emperor returns to the bathing room, he has changed out of his armor into a turtleneck and trousers of a curiously knit fabric that she does not recognize. The trousers and top are both black, and there is a bit of embroidery around the neck that she thinks looks vaguely familiar. It is, she realizes after a moment of consideration, the bottom-most layers of what he usually wears underneath his regalia.

“You look nice out of your armor,” she observes as he helps her out of the bathtub. Her joints protest at the motion, having been pressed to the cold porcelain for much of the morning.

He chuckles softly. “You are welcome to your own poor judgments, Warrior.”

Varis lingers close as she dresses, though he does politely look away when she wiggles into her smallclothes and reinforces the area with some of the cotton padding. She pulls on a pair of short leather pants and laces them to her level of comfort around the waist. Varis catches her wrist in his long fingers before handing over the last piece of clothing he has brought.

“Are you sure you need the top? You look quite delectable as you are.”

“Y-you want to touch me like this?”

“I don’t see why not,” Varis says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “You’re no less desirable, Warrior.” He releases her wrist and gestures at her bare breasts. “You probably should cover up, though. Don’t need you getting too chilled.” Varis gestures with the folded sweater in his other hand.

The sweater is far too large for her, the sleeves folding over her hands and the bottom hem ending a fulm past her bottom. It is warm and comfortable, though, like a hug made of soft silvery wool.

The Emperor retrieves the satchel and her heating pad from the floor and then, despite a brief protest on her part, scoops her up into his arms and carries her down the hall to the sitting room where the mid-day meal is waiting for them.

“I’m not an invalid,” she says as he carefully deposits her in her usual spot on the divan.

“I know. But, I’m going to pretend you are, since I found you awaiting death in my bathtub.” Varis sets the heating pad in her lap and presses his lips to her forehead. “Don’t worry, Warrior, it will be our secret.”

She huffs softly, but smiles up at him. “You’re horrible.”

He chuckles. “Now you’re sounding like the Senate.” Varis presses his lips to the tip of her nose before turning to face the lunch trays. She is glad for this, because the motion leaves her flustered and her cheeks hot. The Warrior busies herself with rolling up the sweater sleeves.

She accepts her usual bowl of warm soup from the tray, and then watches as Varis takes his plate and covers it almost entirely in mashed popotoes. A bit of meat and vegetable goes on the side of the plate. The Warrior has learned not to bring up his dietary choices, as pointing out that a plate of mashed popotoes did not really count as a proper meal simply earns her a surly look and the Emperor adding more of the fluffy golden tubers onto his plate.

That is to say nothing either of how the man eats a bakery’s worth of pastries on a daily basis. He seems in good enough health, and for that she is willing to let the issue rest.

When her soup bowl is empty she uses a piece of bread to wipe it clean. She uses her spoon to steal a bit of popotoes from Varis’ plate. He grunts in subtle alarm and moves to protect his plate.

“Now, now,” she teases, “you didn’t leave any left on the tray for me to have.”

Varis stares at her, brows pinching together for a moment. Then he holds the plate out, lets her scoop up another spoonful, and then continues eating. The Warrior sets her empty bowl and spoon onto the tray and opens the black satchel. She pulls out one of the small bottles and looks at the pale green label affixed to its side. It is printed in Garlean, but she is still able to work out consumption notes and dosage warnings.

She carefully removes the top and ignores the warnings, downing about a third of the bottle before stopping. The taste is less sweet than the tonics she is used to getting in Eorzea, more mild with a peculiar minty aftertaste. She notices Varis watching her from the corner of her eye, and silently returns the bottle to the bag. He says nothing and crams more popotoes into his mouth.

The Warrior leans back into the couch cushions and closes her eyes. After a few minutes she hears Varis set his plate down on the tray and rattle around in the other dishes. He says her name softly, as though unsure of her wakefulness, and she opens her eyes. He has the head of a chocobo-shaped pastry stuffed into his mouth, and is holding another plate in his hand. It is covered in small dark brown cubes. She studies them and their glossy sheen for a moment before realizing what she’s looking at.

“I didn’t think you would have any sort of chocolate here in Garlemald,” she says. The Emperor gives a little defensive huff, and pulls the now headless pastry from his mouth.

“Ah, well, I’m… not particularly fond of it myself. But my grandsire was, and had trade connections set up to have it imported. He was a man of… very expensive tastes.”

“So you, what, just prefer your imports to be coffee and rolanberries?” She smiles at the slightly indignant noise this draws from him. “What? I’m not the greatest of botanists, but I still know neither of those grow in frozen tundra. In Eorzea, the best of both of those grow in Vylbrand.”

He holds out the small plate, its surface chilled, and watches as she chooses a piece of dark chocolate from its uniform contents. “Indeed. That is one of the benefits of having an empire.”

“Or peaceful trade agreements.” She slips the chocolate between her lips, holding Varis’ gaze as she lets the bitter treat melt on her tongue. After swallowing, she says: “You do know about those, right? That you can engage in commerce with other nations without conquering them?”

“Yes,” he says with the faintest hint of testiness in his voice. “But it is far more efficient if you are in control of the lands from which you are deriving goods and resources.”

“Mm. You could try it, though. Free Doma, open supportive trade functions. Gain their begrudging support as allies…”

He grunts and gestures with the plate. “You are determined, aren’t you.”

She takes another piece of chocolate. “It’s just another of my foibles.” The Warrior applies a bit more aether to her heating pad and adjusts herself on the cushions. “But, you should know, if you really want me here, you’ll have to put up with my flaws in addition to whatever you find charming. I won’t be some silent submissive who spends all day waiting for you in your bed.”

Varis’ brow furrows and the corners of his mouth curl downward. “That is not what I want of you. Be that as it may, you know little when it comes to the operations of an empire.” He silences himself with an overly large bite of pastry.

“But, I do know about people.” She licks a stray bit of chocolate from her forefinger. “I don’t know why, but people like me. They listen to me; they’re willing to try to better themselves just after meeting me once. I suppose it’s part of my Gift.”

“And here I thought I was just imagining that effect,” he murmurs. “Though, I would rather think that was some part of your natural charm, and not something you have to attribute to an esoteric divinity.”

She doesn’t know what to say to this--she’s spent far too long attributing the goodness in herself to the generosity of the Mothercrystal than something innate to herself. The Warrior decides she does not feel like thinking too deeply on this matter right now, and distracts herself with the rest of the Emperor’s offering. Varis watches her, an amused twinkle in his eyes, as she quietly devours the entirety of the contents of the plate.

“Good?” he inquires lightly when she relinquishes her hold on the dish. She nods, leaning back and adjusting the heating pad.

“Yes. I haven’t had chocolate in awhile.” She smiles and gestures at him as he partakes in his coffee. “How was yours? What was in it, anyway?”

“It was good. Today was rolanberry with a bit of blood currant.” He smirks into his cup. “Coincidence, I assure you. The daily menus are finalized the night before.” Varis licks his lips. “Would you like one?”

The painkillers that Varis’ guards have provided are indeed powerful, and by the time she has finished eating all the sweets the Emperor presents to her they have already started to kick in and dull the pain twisting at her abdomen. She is glad for this, naturally. Varis sips his coffee and stares at her, and she wonders exactly what he is looking at.

“Is there something on my face?” she asks after a solid minute of his staring. The Emperor blinks and coughs into his coffee.

“No, no. Your face is fine. I mean, it’s beautiful. I mean--” He pauses. “I am not entirely certain what I mean at this point. My apologies.”

She sips her flowery tea and smiles. “There’s no need for apologies, but you were staring at me.”

“Was I?” He wipes a bit of coffee from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I was just thinking.”

She thinks that she has seen that before--Varis staring intently at her while lost in thought. He never really divulges what he is thinking about, though.

“Do you feel more comfortable now, Warrior?” He sets his cup down on the table and reaches out for her. His big hands are warm as they touch the sides of her face. She smiles.

“You’ve been very kind to me this afternoon, Varis. Are you sure you don’t want anything in return?”

“I want to touch you,” he blurts out. His bright eyes widen at her chuckle, and he looks to the coffee cup. “Perhaps there was something extra in the coffee.”

She sets her tea down next to his cup. “You can touch me, yes, as long as you’re careful.” The Warrior gets up from the couch and moves to where he is seated in his armchair, and presses her palms against his shoulders. “Settle back.”

Varis makes a little noise in his throat as he follows her command, hands balancing at her hips as she moves to sit in his lap. She straddles his thighs, enjoying the strain of his muscles against hers. She leans in to run her hands down the black fabric clad expanse of his chest.

“I know some men enjoy messing around down there when a woman is on her moon, but I’m not that fond of it myself on the first day or two.” She traces her fingers over his obliques, and he shivers at her touch. “So, you can touch me, just above the belt, okay? I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Above, er, above the belt is just fine,” Varis murmurs. “I do not require any compensation.” His hands push north, up under the excess of her sweater, palms rubbing smoothly along the tense muscles of her abdomen. “You will tell me if I do anything that hurts you.”

“No, I’m just going to s--ah!--suffer in silence.” Her breath catches as his fingers find the underside of her breasts and sweep upwards to tease at her nipples.

He watches her, eyes aglow as his fingers continue to explore the curves of her breasts. It is a strange game, she manages to think, his fingertips blindly feeling along her tender flesh while his gaze remains locked on hers. 

“You’re very warm,” he says in his low voice. The vibrato of it makes her fingers tingle, and she lets out a breathless laugh. His fingers move away from her breasts, back down to explore over her ribcage, then slowly down her sides until they pause back home on her hips. “The sweater isn’t too heavy for you, is it?”

“Oh, no, it’s lovely,” she says. He makes an uncertain noise, thumbs pressing into her flesh, and she catches what he is aiming at. “Though, it does seem to be getting in the way.”

A smidgen coy, he offers: “Perhaps you should take it off for a bit?”

“Just a little while,” she agrees.

Varis helps her pull the oversized sweater off over her head and tosses it over onto the couch. The air in the sitting room is slightly chilly, but he is warm and close and she lets herself be drawn into his heated gravity. His big hands roam gently down her back, and she settles her weight against him. His touch is a balm to her aching muscles.

For reasons unknown to the Warrior, Varis quickly loses interest in tickling at her breasts, and instead keeps his hands on her back as his mouth goes to her chin. He kisses there, teasing close to her lips before moving down to her jaw. She sighs contentedly and tips her head to the side, allowing his mouth access to her neck. The Emperor kisses down her throat, nipping lightly at her pulse before continuing down the curve of her neck and on to her shoulder. 

Her fingers brush over the front of his trousers. Varis hisses softly against her shoulder as her palm bumps against the taut fabric, rubbing deliberately against the flesh trapped beneath.

She teases: “Is this something I can take credit for?”

He makes a strained noise in his throat. “You don’t have to--”

“Unless you’re forbidding me from touching you, Varis, I can do what I want.” She palms his erection again, and is rewarded with the Emperor’s bodily shudder. “And I do so enjoy touching you. Not just here, of course. All over. There’s so much of you to touch.” She traces her fingers up over his abdomen and digs in a bit into the firm muscles there. He huffs against her skin, whispering her name with the delicate sort of reverence men usually save for their gods.

“Touch me, then, Warrior,” he says, voice high and thin with need. “I will not forbid you this indulgence.”

She chuckles, fingers teasing underneath the waistband of his trousers and brushing against the hair there. “Your indulgence or mine, Varis?”

He huffs again and kisses at her throat. “Perhaps just our mutual gratification.”

“Mutual, hm?” Her hand moves lower, until her fingers find the base of his girth. “You’d treat me as your equal?” He nods fervently against her. “Is that just because my hand is down your trousers?”

The Emperor whispers, breathless: “No.”

The Warrior hums softly as she pulls as much of him free from his trousers as she can manage, delighting in the gasp that escapes the man as her fingers tease over the moisture that has already gathered at the tip. She watches his face as her hand slowly traverses his length. His ivory cheeks are flushed and pupils wide with desire. Varis catches her watching him and his steady breaths cut short with a soft gasp. When she winks at him, he groans lowly and buries his face in the curve of her neck. She manages not to laugh when he whispers her name into her skin.

The Warrior whispers near his ear: “Do you want me to take care of you, Your Radiance?”

His reply is a muffled: “ _Please_.”

His cock is a handful, even with the base still trapped under tight fabric. Her thumb drags his wetness down the underside of his shaft, and she squeezes just enough on the upward stroke to draw a little blissful noise from Varis’ throat. It does not take long to make the mountain unravel against her, and his fingertips grip her back with bruising force as his hips jerk upward to meet her palm.

When he comes it leaves a viscous residue on his black-clad belly, though the remainder ends up coating her fingertips and trailing along her abdomen. For a long moment he does not move, just remains slumped against her shoulder, breath escaping in ardent puffs. After he steadies himself, Varis moves a hand from her back to catch at her chin, tilting her head back enough to permit him access to her lips. His kiss is still awkward but sincere, and she parts her lips to tease his tongue into her mouth.

The Warrior does not know if she will ever be able to drink coffee again without thinking of the Emperor. She will have to stick to tea whenever she finally goes home to Ishgard.

“Stay with me,” he whispers when they break for air.

“What?” She opens her eyes, looks at him, takes in the intent look on his face.

“When the month is over, and I have kept my word.” Varis moves his hand from her chin to comb his fingers through her hair. “Stay with me.” He presses his forehead to hers. “For as long as you can stand to. Please, stay.”

“Oh, Varis, I don’t…” She sighs softly. “Ask me again when you have kept your word. Okay?” The Warrior smooths her lips over his third eye. “That isn’t something you should be asking when you’ve just been intimate with someone.”

The backs of his fingers brush along her cheek. His breathing has calmed, but his golden gaze is still focused on her face.

Finally he nods. His lips bend into a smile and the rest of his expression folds similarly with blissful afterglow. “As you wish.”


	8. Chapter 8

The days move on, the Warrior’s menses pass, and things go more or less back to normal. She returns to her usual business of lounging about in the Emperor’s quarters, sometimes wandering down the halls with the Emperor’s map in hand, but making a point not to go into the library. She tries it once, decides that there is still something in the grand room that makes her uncomfortable, and retreats from it without a backward glance.

She sits at Varis’ desk in the study and does a mental tally of how long she has been in Garlemald. Sixteen days now? Perhaps seventeen. It seems to have been that long. She glances at the papers on his desk, but nothing is of much interest. It’s all just trade papers and petitions and military reports and a notepad covered in Varis’ handwriting with a great deal of underlined notes that seem to be in regard to whatever his son is up to in Gyr Abania. She does not see any notes regarding herself of the Scions, so she decides not to worry about that matter for the time being.

She likes to sit in the desk chair. It is far too large for her, but it smells like Varis and some little animal part of her brain has decided she likes that. She enjoys the faintly caramelized smell of his coffee, of well-worn leather and polished armor, and the cold bite to the perspiration on his skin on days when he actually leaves the palace.

The Warrior is dozing in the chair when the Emperor returns from his duties. He calls her name softly, which is enough to rouse her from her nap, but she does not move until she feels a heavy hand rest on her shoulder.

“I’ve brought you something,” Varis says by way of greeting. She looks to him, puzzling briefly over the fact that he has already freed himself of his crown and breastplate and pauldrons. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, and makes a show of stretching her arms over her head. The Warrior peeks up at him, and sees that his gaze has drifted down to where the edge of her knit top has ridden up along her stomach. “Varis?”

He blinks and looks her in the eyes. “Come. It’s in the sitting room.”

She hops down from the desk chair and follows him across the hall into the sitting room. The missing pieces of his attire are lumped in his preferred armchair. Nearby there is a long narrow bundle laid out on the surface of the table where they usually take their meals. Curious, the Warrior presses past him and goes to the table. The bundle is bound in a dark dyed leather, and she is aware of the smell of something mechanical as she nears.

“Go ahead. It’s a gift, from me to you.”

There is a metallic rattle as she unrolls the gift, and the heavy barrel of a gunblade falls into her open hand. It looks to be fairly standard issue--the Warrior has seen plenty of a similar make on the bodies of fallen Imperial centurions, as well as strapped to the backs of some of the living guards in the palace. But this weapon is clearly new and unused, lacquered a perfect black with silvered fittings. The blade is a bit shorter than she expects, but it is also new, with nary a single nick or scratch upon its pristine sterling surface.

“It’s beautiful, but…” She looks up at him. “You trust me to have this?”

Varis arches a brow. “Should I not? You’ve done nothing to harm me in the last two weeks. Why should putting a weapon into your hands make a difference?”

She isn’t sure if he is being naive or not. “What, you’ve been waiting for me to bludgeon you with a book?”

He hums softly. “I hadn’t considered a book, but now that you mention it I suppose I should have.” Varis touches the back of her hand. “If it will make you feel better, I can lock it up in my cabinet when you aren’t using it.”

The Warrior considers the variety of cabinets and bureaus and other storage boxes scattered about his quarters, but can’t determine which one he’s speaking of. “What cabinet?”

“Where I keep my own weapons.”

She blinks, and then laughs softly. She feels silly at the explanation. “Oh. Of course you must have some weapons. You were a High Legatus, right?”

Varis smiles, clearly pleased that she knows this detail, even though he has never mentioned it to her. “That’s right.” He gestures at her hand. “Give it a try?”

Most of the weight of the gunblade is focused in the hilt and the frame and cylinder of the revolver. She levels the weapon in front of her, surprised by how well it balances with the length of the blade.

“I seem to recall you having a sword among your possessions during your first time on the _Gration_ ," Varis says. “Do you believe you could handle this weapon as such?”

“I think so.” The Warrior gives the gunblade an experimental swing. “I’ve no experience with firearms, though. I probably should have spoken more with the machinists in Ishgard.”

The Emperor enfolds her in his arms and gently wraps her hands around hers. He gently adjusts her grip. “You’ll want to hold it like this, otherwise you’ll throw your wrist when the blade makes contact.”

She blushes and does her best not to lean into the warmth of his body. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry. When next I can free up an afternoon, I’ll go over the basics with you.”

Part of her wants to protest--certainly the leader of an empire has better things to do with his time than teach her to use a gunblade. But just as much she finds, to her surprise, that she wants that time with him. Though his massive form belies great prowess in physical combat, the Warrior has never seen him actually fight.

“That’s kind of you, Varis.”

He presses his nose into her hair. “My pleasure.”

She wonders if she can convince him to train with his shirt off. She takes another short swing with the gunblade, and feels the purr of Varis’ approving hum behind her.

“You’re a natural. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? You are no helpless maiden, but the Warrior of Light. I’m sure you scarcely need my instruction.”

“I wouldn’t refuse it.” She lets the point of the weapon rest carefully on the floor. “You probably have almost as many years of combat experience as I’ve been alive. I would be foolish to not at least listen to what you have to say. Especially regarding a weapon I have no real knowledge of.”

His chuckle reverberates through her spine and makes her shiver with unexpected pleasure. “Then, you’re already ahead of most of the soldiers I’ve served with.” Varis gives her a small squeeze before stepping away. “Come, I’ll show you where the cabinet is located.”

The Emperor leads the way across the hall to his study. She is surprised when he maneuvers his way around his desk chair to the far wall. There he pushes back a hanging tapestry and reveals a keypad. Varis removes the gauntlet from his right hand and tosses it into the desk chair.

“Why keep it hidden?” she wonders as he enters a code and slides open a concealed door.

“I’d rather the maids didn’t have access to weaponry,” he nonchalantly says. The door squeaks to a stop.

“Oh. Fair enough.” This being Garlemald, though, the Warrior would be half surprised if the maids didn’t have a knife tucked into their stockings.

Varis steps to the side so she can take a look. The Warrior moves to his periphery, the smell of metal and gunpowder and leather meeting her nose. It is more pleasant than she might have expected, as it reminds her of the steely presence of the man standing next to her. Varis gestures inside with his bare hand.

“Feel free to look. I can answer any questions you might have.”

She nods and studies the small collection inside--there is what could pass for a standard heavy sword, until she notes the barrel and trigger incorporated into the blade. Next to it is a massive heavy shield that appears to have a gun barrel incorporated into its design. Mounted higher in the cabinet there are a long barreled revolver and a gunblade that looks similar to the one she has been gifted with.

“Standard officer’s issue,” Varis says as he notes her gaze on the gunblade. He picks it up. “This one has served me well, since before I was first a legatus.” He points the blade downward and gestures at the dark red handle. There, inscribed in black Garlean letters is [ _VyG_ ]. “Back when I was just ‘the Emperor’s grandson’.”

She runs her finger over the black letters. “You’ve both come a long way, haven’t you?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Do you think so?”

“Of course. You’re the Emperor now.”

Varis rests the flat of the blade on his shoulder and makes a thoughtful noise. “There are many who would say that I had a head start, due to my familial connections with Emperor Solus.” He grimaces. “The old man certainly would.”

“True, but a head start is worth nothing if you don’t do anything with it,” she says. “You’ve told me yourself. You’ve spent your whole life working hard to prove yourself worthy of the throne. If you hadn’t, you’d still be a legatus, right? That is, if the new emperor didn’t have you executed to get you out of the way.”

He stares down at her, brows raised slightly. “I--” Varis huffs softly in chagrin and looks away. “Yes, you are right.”

“Varis?”

He glances at her, and she recognizes a thinly veiled look of apprehension on his features. She swallows.

“I know what it feels like, to have people expect something of you just because of a title. I know what it feels like, to have to prove that you aren’t just your title.”

Varis’ face relaxes into a frown. “Sometimes, I feel as though…” He trails off. “Nevermind.”

She wants to press him, but doesn’t. She thinks she knows what troubles him--she has seen his expression sour at the memory of his grandfather. She wants to tell him that everything is okay now, that his grandfather has passed and won’t be able to persecute him any longer. But, she doesn’t know how. So the Warrior just nods, and Varis noisily clears his throat.

“Here. I’ll show you a secret.” He lifts his gunblade, and indicates that she do the same. “These blades are made by a master craftsman here in the Capital. They use a very particular blend of steel that is partially tempered with a byproduct of the ceruleum refining process. Because of this, blades forged by our craftsman have a particular way of… singing, when they come in contact with each other. It’s a way of checking for forgeries that might sneak into the ranks.”

“Oh.” She considers his words and smiles. “That’s brilliant.”

“Naught more than a particular quirk of the craftsmanship, but... “ Varis smiles. “Yes, I suppose it is a particularly fascinating result. Shall I show you?”

She nods. “Yes, I’d love to hear it.”

“Hold out your gunblade then, in a resting stance.”

He touches the flat of his blade against hers, and there is a gentle metallic chime. Something levin courses from her hand and down her arm as Varis slowly shifts the blade until the edges touch, as though drawing a bow across a string. The air is pierced with a singular, seductive ringing. She shivers. The Emperor is no fumbling soldier--he knows what he is doing with a weapon in his hand. The Warrior exhales shakily as his wrist pivots and pulls his gunblade away. The weapon in her hand vibrates slightly.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs. “Your cheeks have gone flushed.”

“I just…” She licks her lips. “You know how to handle your weapon.”

His lips twitch in amusement. “Does that excite you, Warrior of Light?”

She looks at the gunblade, held steady in his hand. A shaky laugh escapes her. “More than I expected it to, yes.”

Varis chuckles and returns the gunblade to the cabinet. He retrieves the much larger gunblade. It is a massive thing, easily six or seven fulms long, but he handles it as easily as the previous weapon. The blade is a rippling blood red thing, and with its black and gold hilt the weapon is a silent impression of the power of Garlemald.

There is something familiar about the weapon that she cannot immediately place.

The Emperor lifts the forked points at the end of the weapon until they are just shy of her shoulder. “A weapon should be a familiar thing, a reliable extension of oneself. If you are cornered and alone, your weapon may be the only thing you have to rely on.”

“Has that ever happened to you, Varis?”

“You have seen me, seen my scars. I stand out like a target on the battlefield.” He looks down the black barrel of the gunblade, and he flashes a playful smirk. “So you know it is they who were the ones cornered when they thought they had me backed against a wall.”

The blade comes to a hanging stop only an ilm from her throat. She exhales shakily.

“Impressive,” the Emperor murmurs. “Though I can tell you are unsteady with a weapon so close to you, I do not see any fear in your lovely eyes.”

She looks up the long line of the blade and to his face. “You aren’t going to hurt me.” She is certain of this.

Varis considers her answer, and then nods as he rests the gunblade on his broad shoulder. “That is true.” His free hand extends to brush his gloved fingers against her cheek. “I can teach you how to use a gunblade properly. At the very least, training with it will help keep you sharp and ready to fight, so you have not gone soft when the time comes.”

“You seem certain that it will.”

His eyes half close and for a moment he looks regretful. “It always does.” Varis sighs. “This is but a temporary reprieve. Peace cannot be bought without blood on this star, however much I wish that words were enough. That is just the nature of the beast. Depending on how things progress in Gyr Abania, I will eventually have to be present on that battlefield as well.”

She frowns, choosing for the time being to sidestep the fact that if Garlemald just stopped trying to conquer Eorzea, neither weapons nor words would be necessary for peace. Instead she focuses on her current situation. “And when you go, what will happen to me?”

The Emperor delicately returns the bulky gunblade to the weapons cabinet. He holds out his hand to her, and she places the grip of her gunblade in his open palm. He adds it to the contents of the cabinet.

“Ask me again in two weeks,” he says.

Ah, yes. Their agreement. “Still working on that?”

“Some progress is being made.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”He glances down at her. “Are you hoping that I fail in my efforts?”

She touches the back of his arm. “No. I believe you can be a man of peace, Varis.” The Warrior gestures at the big red blade in the weapons cabinet. “Regula believed in you, too.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Your gunblade. I’ve seen the model before. The Legatus carried one when we crossed paths, though I would say his was more silver in color.”

“Ah. I see. Yes, they were both of a model issued to Imperial Legati. That’s very observant of you.”

She just smiles and rests her head against his sleeve. “Thank you for the gift, Varis. It is lovely, and I will do my best not to waste it.”

“I trust that you will.” Varis closes the cabinet doors and taps in a code to secure the fixtures.

The Warrior rises up on her toes to whisper toward his ear. “And, I just want to say that you handling those blades with such finesse was… very attractive.”

He pauses. “Is that so?”

She takes his hand and guides it between her thighs so that he can feel the press of heat there. “Very.”

Varis holds her gaze as his broad fingers squeeze at her inner thigh. His hand shifts, and she holds back a gasp as his thumb brushes against the thin fabric of her trousers. His right brow arches playfully with a realization.

“No smallclothes?”

She licks her lips. “I did not see a need for them today.” She shivers as his thumb caresses her through her trousers.

“Wise woman,” he murmurs. Varis picks up the gauntlet from his desk chair before pulling the other off and tossing the pair over the side of the couch. He scoops her up and deposits her on the desk, sending papers and stationary in all directions. She laughs breathily as he sits before her, easily working her trousers down and off and throwing them in the same direction as his gloves. He tugs her forward until her bottom nears the edge of the desk. Unhesitant, she parts her knees for him. The Warrior crooks a beckoning finger and smiles as the Emperor immediately moves in. 

He teases a fingertip along her slit, and makes a pleased noise at the wetness already gathered there. Varis shifts his weight forward and accompanies his finger with his tongue. His breath huffs against the hair that frames her sex and she trembles. For a brief moment she sees his golden eyes looking up at her, gauging her reaction. 

She gasps: “Varis!” He hums in agreement. His tongue slips between her folds, and her muscles clutch eagerly against his as both tongue and finger caress her inner walls. Her hands go to his hair, fingers tangling in whatever isn’t bound and braided. She wants more of him--wants all of him, wants to smother him with her thighs and have him know the wild levin that he has cast into her veins with a casual drag of his blade. She wants him to know that he may be the strongest man in all of Garlemald, but even he has a weakness--and that she is much the same.

It is nigh impossible to voice these things when his thumb is rubbing against her clit. 

He works at her for several minutes, thumb of his right hand teasing in persistent circles while the forefinger of the left drags itself inside of her with maddening slowness. His tongue is persistent between the two, the wet sounds of his attentions periodically accompanied by a low hum from his throat. 

She calls his name when she finally comes, hips twitching and fingers coiled and clenched tightly in his hair. She holds him in place, her body demanding his subjugation, and the Emperor gladly serves. He laps at her as she trembles through her climax, thumb pressing against her and dragging the pleasure out.

She cries out, half plaintive, half demanding: “More!”

When she has started to still and her grip on his scalp slackens, Varis frees himself from his trousers and stands. He grabs her hips and lifts her. She moans her assent as he guides the already glistening head of his cock to her swollen folds. She moans again as he pushes into her, and her legs hook along his sides. He takes a careful step away from the desk before pressing her backside into the study wall. She braces herself against the wall and rocks her hips into his, fingers grasping firmly at his shoulders. He thrusts into her, breathless, urgent, her body demanding this further service and he desperate to give.

“Varis,” she pants out her demand. “Finish in me!”

The Emperor surrenders to her, grinding her hips into the wall as his muscles tense. She wails with pleasure as he fills her.

When he is spent, he steps back and settles down into the desk chair once more. She remains enthroned on him, panting against his chest. Her fingers release his shoulder from her grip and pull his face to hers. She tastes herself in his kiss.

The Warrior sighs into his mouth: “Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 9

The Warrior is not sure what she is expecting when she is introduced to the court tailor. Whatever ‘it’ is, the middle-aged Elezen does not match the mental image. The tailor is a tall, trim man with dark skin and fading blue hair, who would have not struck her as remarkable at all except for the ugly scar that traces down the left side of his face.

“Warrior of Light, it is my honor and privilege to be of assistance to you,” the Elezen says smoothly as he bows. “Cataegis oen Mondblum, happy to be at your service.”

“Thank you, um--”

“‘Cataegis’ is fine,” he says. “Or you may just call me ‘The Elezen’, as his former Radiance was more inclined.”

“Cataegis,” she repeats. _Oen_ , she thinks. If she recalls correctly, that means he’s a former soldier. “Tell me, how does one go from being infantry to a tailor?”

The Elezen gives her a reservedly amused look. “It is, in fact, the other way around. I was born into a tailor’s life, but the military did come calling when I was in my younger years. After, I served my duty and was given the honor of joining the palace staff after my retirement. And here I have remained, for some twenty subsequent winters.”

“Ah. Well, then I suppose you know what you’re doing better than I.”

“I do,” he says politely. He idly coils a measuring tape around his long fingers. “Now, then, Lord Varis indicated you were in need of a wardrobe.” He squints at her, cocking his head to the side in thought. “Should be simple enough.”

Aside from a few murmurs to himself, the tailor is quiet while taking her measurements. He is holding a length of the measuring tape between her shoulders when he speaks up. “So, tell me, how does Eorzea’s famed and feared Warrior of Light end up in the Imperial Palace of Garlemald, under the keeping of the Emperor himself? You should be in chains, or dead, or worse.”

“I’m not in his keeping,” she corrects, and disregards the latter half of his statement. “I’m--” Uncertain, she stops. Just what exactly is she doing here? She is no prisoner, Varis has staunchly made that clear. Any diplomatic purposes she is serving on behalf of Eorzea are entirely of her own devising. And as for her relations with Varis himself… “A guest. I’m a guest of the Emperor.”

“A guest, yes,” the tailor repeats in a careful tone. “You know, I had the pleasure of serving under His Radiance when he was but a Legatus. He never struck me as the sort to have a guest. Certainly not a guest who…” He trails off while jotting down numbers with a little nubbin of a pencil. “...lingered so long.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely your business, Cataegis,” she says.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” He hums softly. “Still, it does give an old man hope. The palace has been so dreadfully dull since Emperor Solus passed.”

She watches the man potter about, tapping pencil on notepad. She tries: “And what do you think of Emperor Varis, as a person? Is he a good man?”

The Elezen tuts, not looking up from the notepad. “Come now, Miss Warrior. Surely by now you must know that ‘good’ is a horrible term to use to describe a person. And equally you ought know by now that the continuance of my employment partially requires that I do not voice my opinions on the man.”

She thinks of the similar answer she received from Julia. “Of course.”

“That being said. As a former soldier of his, I can say with confidence that there was a reason Emperor Varis had such strong backing from the Legions when he made his move to gain the throne.” He coils the tape loosely around her wrist. “Lord Varis won the throne. He did not gain it through chance or inheritance.”

“I see.”

She is still pondering the tailor’s words several minutes later when there is a light rapping of knuckles on the door. The Emperor opens the door without waiting for acknowledgement. His eyes flit briefly to the Elezen before looking down to her.

“Are you quite finished with the Warrior, Cataegis?” Varis says.

The tailor bows politely and tucks the remains of his pencil behind his long ear. “Yes, Your Radiance. I do believe I have all the necessary measurements. I’ll see what I can have ready in a few days.”

“Good. Make sure you have some standard training gear in cotton and carbonweave prepared as well.”

“Of course, sir.”

Varis’ gaze lingers on her face, his expression pensive. “You were still interested in learning, yes, Warrior? I have a few free hours today.”

She recalls the gunblade, freshly forged and waiting in the weapons cabinet. “Yes, if you have the time.”

He smiles down at her. “Good. I’ll have a room in the training center cleared for our usage.”

The Warrior goes ahead to change into something more appropriate for combat training. By the time Varis returns to his quarters, she is seated on his bed, a small leather pouch dumped open and a collection of gleaming stones gathered in front of her. She can feel his gaze on her as he quietly strips from his armor.

“I’ll have to get you keyed in to access the training center on your own,” he murmurs, more to himself than her. She hears the clink and rattle of his boots being removed. “Would you like that, Warrior?”

“I’m not sure I should be going there without you.” She nudges one of the stones with her finger, and glances up in time to get a glimpse of the Emperor’s bared legs. “I wouldn’t be able to get my gunblade.”

“They have practice weapons there…” He pulls on a pair of black thick cotton trousers and laces up the top. “But, if you would prefer only to go with me, then I will make time for you.”

“You already make so much time for me, Varis.”

“And that is my pleasure and privilege to do so.”

When he has bound his hair back into a ponytail, the Emperor turns his attention to what the Warrior is doing. He stands next to the bed.

“And what are these?” Varis picks up one of the shining stones.

“Soul crystals,” she says. “They help me use various combat jobs. Each one contains a bit of the memory of someone who wielded it before. Helps master skills more quickly.”

He makes a curious noise, holding the blue crystal up to the light. “I don’t feel anything special about it.”

“That’s because you’re Garlean. The memories are stored and accessed through aether in the crystal.”

“Ah, then they would be all but useless to one such as me,” he grunts out.

“I’m afraid so.” She flashes a conciliatory smile. “Don’t feel too cross about it all. A lot of non-Garleans don’t have enough skill in using their aether to make much use of soul crystals.”

“Well, here we do not have any sort of magical stones to aid us with our learning,” Varis says and gently deposits the crystal back on the bedcovers. “You will have to learn to use a gunblade for yourself.” He smiles. “Do not worry. I have seen countless lesser men manage to successfully wield a gunblade. So, you should be a master after a lesson or two.”

She laughs and lightly swats his bicep. “I am not above learning for myself, Varis.”

“Of course not.”

The Warrior picks up a pale blue stone. For a brief moment her mind is inundated with the recollections of paladins past. She glances at Varis, thinks of the variety of sword and shield that he has locked away in the study, and tries to reconcile them with what she knows of the paladin’s charge to protect. They are not the same, she decides, and sets the soul crystal down.

“Why are you looking through these now?” Varis wonders aloud.

“Ah, well. I was just trying to see if any of them might help me with using a gunblade better. But, I don’t think it’s the same at all.” She carefully returns the stones to their storage pouch.

He chuckles and gently touches the top of her head. “Do not worry, my dear Warrior of Light. You will do just fine under my tutelage. Probably better than fine, in fact.”

Varis leads her through the palace, down halls she has yet to traverse but that are honestly barely distinguishable from those she has. The Warrior wonders idly how the Emperor or anyone else in the palace can so easily remember where they are in the building. She also wonders what madman designed the place, but knows that is a question that is better without breath put behind it. Some of the halls have guards posted--those especially close to the throne room--but others are vacant and lonely places.

The last hall they come to has a guard posted outside of a glass door. They salute the Emperor and nod politely to his companion. Varis pulls a metallic keycard from his pocket and uses it to open the door. Beyond the barrier the subdued smell of sweat meets her nose, and she has to squint against the sudden brightness of the lighting. A young Garlean, in uniform excepting for a helmet, stands near the door holding what looks to her like a tomestone with a screen that glows ceruleum blue.

The Garlean salutes as soon as the door has closed. “Good afternoon, Your Radiance! We have Room B set aside and prepared for your usage this afternoon, sir.”

“Good,” Varis says, before beckoning slightly to the Warrior and continuing on his way. They leave that first little room and head down a side hallway. A few soldiers and guards in exercise attire are milling about, but they all quickly move to salute as the Emperor strides down the hall. The Warrior is not blind to the side glances the men and women all cast in her wake. She waits until Varis has opened a door and she has followed him beyond before saying anything.

Watching as he keys the lock on the door, she says: “Why did every person we pass give me a side eye, as though we’ve been fucking?”

He turns and looks down at her, mouth opened slightly, a faint bit of color on his cheeks. After a long moment he closes his mouth and clears his throat. “Well, we have, haven’t we?”

“Yes, but, they don’t have to look at me like that.” The Warrior crosses her arms and frowns. “What sort of gossip goes around this palace, Varis? What do your men think I was brought here for?”

He sighs. “Do you really care about their opinions?”

“A little.” She shakes her head. “I can’t help it.”

Varis cups the side of her face in his hand. “Whatever they think, it does not truly matter. All that matters is what you think of me, and what I think of you.”

The Warrior huffs softly and decides that she can always ask Annia or Julia about the palace gossip mill. One of the two of them will likely be honest with her. She made sure Varis had them properly compensated for their assistance during her menses, and since then they’ve been quite courteous with her. It is useful to have her own allies on the inside, she thinks.

He clears his throat again and slowly turns her away from the door. “Now then. This is one of the training rooms. It’s not used for drills or anything large scale, more for individual combat practice and general physical fitness assessments for the military.”

“Do you have to take a physical, Varis?” she asks coyly as she looks around the room.

“Not anymore,” he grumps. “Fortunately.”

The floor of the room is padded, and soft under her bare feet after they have removed their boots. The walls are hardwood, nicked and scratched in places, with a metal railing a yalm and a half off the floor level on one wall. On the far wall is a large window, its frosted glass letting in the persistent gray glare of daylight. There are also several racks against the wall of various weapons and other forms of equipment.

“Would you still pass a physical?” the Warrior asks as Varis pads across the room to the weapons rack.

“Most likely,” he says. He smirks back at her. “What, don’t you approve of my physical condition?”

“Ah--yes, of course, Varis.”

Varis lifts two plain gunblades from the rack. “You would not pass, unfortunately. Nothing against you, of course.” He holds out one of the weapons. “We can work on that, if you’d like.”

She blushes. “I don’t know if that’s really necessary.”

He smiles at her before moving to sit on a bench. It looks like it is meant for some variety of weight lifting, but the Emperor sits where he wants to, so she follows.

“Now then, the basics.” He hits a latch on the side of the gunblade now resting on his knees, and the gun chamber opens. “There is a safety mechanism to prevent accidental firing of the weapon, but you’ll find a great deal of the gunblades our centurions tote around have the safety jammed into the ‘off’ position.”

She looks at the switch he is indicating near the trigger of the revolver. “How do you know?”

Varis smirks. “Because I conducted a great deal of weapons inspections when I was Legatus, and they were always having points docked for improper weapon maintenance.” He taps the side of the open chamber. “Now, we always make sure the weapon is not loaded if we are not planning to use it in combat or munitions training. Always assume a weapon in your hand is loaded until you have personally confirmed otherwise.”

The Warrior nods, turning her gunblade onto its side and finding the switch that Varis had used to open the chamber. It opens smoothly, and she rolls the cylinder slowly between her fingers. He nods in approval.

“Very good.”

They sit side by side on the bench for several minutes, the Emperor patiently explaining his way through the basic workings of the gunblade--of how the barrel is slightly offset to prevent exiting ammunition from striking the blade, how the ammunition chamber has spots for six standard rounds and one for specialized explosive ammunition, and so forth. She listens attentively, curious about the technology that Garlemald has created to wage its wars. It reminds her of the firearms the machinists in Ishgard have been producing, but more elegant and refined. Varis does not go so far as to break the weapon down and show her how to put it back together, but the Warrior does not entirely mind this omission.

When the review is done, they get up from the bench. She rubs idly at her tailbone, as the bench was unpadded and aggressively uncomfortable to sit on for any extended period of time.

“Now then,” Varis rumbles and sets his weapon down on the offending bench. “We’ll go over handling and combat basics.” He waves at her. “Go ahead, hold the gunblade like I showed you the other day.”

The Warrior nods, closing the chamber and securing the safety before taking the hilt in her hands. She places one before the other, and then adjusts them.

“Close,” Varis says.

“Why do you have me wielding it with two hands?” she wonders, looking at the Emperor as he slowly paces around her. “Everyone else I’ve seen uses it in just one.”

“Because you are still learning how to wield it,” he says. “I am quite certain that you are capable of using it with just one hand. Certainly strong enough.”

“So it’s a matter of precaution.”

“In so many words. I’ve seen too many overzealous centurions damage a weapon or break their wrist because they don’t fully understand their weapon yet.”

She tests the weight behind the swing. “And if we spar, will you use it with one hand or two?”

The Emperor pauses, and his brows lift in unison. “You wish to spar with me?”

“I do, of course.”

He hums thoughtfully. “One handed, most likely. I would put too much force behind my swings otherwise, and injure you.”

“You sound confident of yourself.”

He smirks down at the Warrior. “I am.” Varis stops behind her. “Besides, I am more used to carrying a gunblade in conjunction with a shield.” He moves close behind her. 

She shivers as his weight presses warm and heavy against her back. “Are you sure you aren’t trying to fuel the gossip mill at all?”

“Very sure, my dear,” he says, folding his arms around her and pressing their hands together on the hilt of the gunblade. “Though, I am quite certain guard duty in the palace can be quite dull at times.”

“Life itself can be dull at times, when we’re fortunate,” she says. She feels his breath huff softly at the crown of her head, and his fingers adjust themselves over hers.

“Now then. With a weapon like this, a two handed grip is better when using the weapon defensively. I know it doesn’t seem like much of a shield, but it can be used to surprising effect. That’s why a proper grip and awareness of the blade’s positioning relative to your body is important.” He releases her left hand to run a finger up the flat of the blade, just parallel to the barrel of the gun component.

“Ah, you don’t want your leading side to be where the barrel is, or it might become damaged.”

“That is correct. Very good.”

The Emperor leads her through a few practice swings, stopping now and again to further explain the thought process behind what was being done. When he is satisfied with her comprehension, he steps away.

“Now then, single handed grip is similar. There’s a bit of a groove there near the front of the hilt, that’s the best place to keep the leading edge of your hand. You’ll be able to reach the trigger easily with that hold, and enough of the hilt remains behind your palm to compensate for any possible dislodging that a blow might incur.”

The Warrior squints as she holds out the gunblade before her, trying to sight down the line of the barrel. “Did you train many soldiers, Varis? I’d imagine you were good at it.”

“I did, but I was horrible at it.” He smirks. “I yelled too much, or so said my grandfather.”

She considers this, considers all the people she has met in her adventures. “Well. Some people need to be yelled at.”

He keeps his back to the door when he hunches over and noisily laughs. She smiles and takes a few practice swings while he calms himself.

The Warrior thinks of the friendly, smiling faces of the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance. She wonders why it would be a bad thing for the imperial soldiers to see their leader laughing, or to see how beautiful he looked when he smiled. Would it remove some vital layer of mystique and make him seem too real, too much a normal mortal man like the rest of them? She recalls some slightly disparaging commentary from Ser Aymeric during a dinner--’the Empire does not worship gods. They worship their emperor in the gods’ stead. But the emperor will not care for his men, not as the gods do.’ Ser Aymeric had been musing into his fourth glass of wine, and she had not put much thought into his words at the time.

Now, as she watches Varis work to make his expression neutral, she wonders just what it means to be the emperor of Garlemald. For Varis, and for his subjects.

And for her.

“Now then,” Varis’ voice brings her from her thoughts, “I believe we can do a bit of sparring. Nothing too rough. This is just training.”

The Warrior holds the gunblade in her right hand. Its weight trails behind her, the point nearly touching the soft ground they stand upon. 

She teases: “If you don’t get a little bumped around, how am I supposed to kiss anything better?”

“I could ask much the same of you.” He winks at her and readies himself. “I will go first. Block my attack.”

Easier said than done, she thinks as she watches the muscles strain under his shirt. She nods and switches her grip on the gunblade.

The Warrior is not used to seeing Varis move at more than a casual saunter, so when he launches himself at her it catches her off guard. A man of his great size should not be able to move so effortlessly. She barely has time to raise her weapon in defense before he collides with her, gunblade first.

Her feet slip along the padded floor as she stumbles back several yalms, but she manages not to fall over.

“Are you alright?” Varis calls. The Warrior steadies herself and nods, brings her training weapon back to a ready stance. Her hands and arms sting from the impact.

Now that she knows how he is going to move--more battering ram than dancer--she has no trouble dodging and blocking his swing. Her feet dig into the floor and she throws her weight into a counterattack. The Emperor doesn’t go flying, but he loses his balance enough to stagger backwards. The wall resonates with a thud as he collides with its surface. She hears a faint cry of surprise from the other side of the wall.

“Are you alright, Your Radiance?” she calls to him, unable to hide a brief grin. The Emperor’s pale cheeks darken with a blush, and he pushes away from the wall. He stalks across the room, and uses his height to loom over her. It isn’t as intimidating as it probably is meant to be.

“You are lucky that we are in a mostly public space,” Varis whispers into her ear. “Otherwise I would bend you over that bench and show you just how ‘alright’ I am.”

It is her turn to blush, and she pokes lightly at his chest with the butt of her gunblade. “Now, now, Varis. There’s time for that later.”

“Indeed.” The Emperor presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Let us continue.”

By the time they have completed training for the afternoon, both Emperor and Warrior are flushed and sweating. Her tunic clings to her skin in spots, and she would like nothing more than to peel it off and throw it at the Emperor just to see his reaction. However, she knows that this would be too inappropriate for him, and settles for sidling up close to his side after they have put the practice weapons away.

“You know, Varis, I could really go for a bath right now.”

The Emperor pulls his hair from its now disheveled ponytail. “Is that so?” He smooths his hair out before tying it back again.

“It is,” she says as she follows him to the doorway. “You’re more than welcome to join me.” She picks up a fluffy towel and drapes it over her shoulders.

Varis keys open the door. Several guards in the corridor are trying to look as though they weren’t trying to spy on the goings-on within the room. When the Warrior looks at them, this time they have the decency to look away. She allows herself a smirk as she follows Varis out of the training center.

They are only a few paces down the hall when the Emperor stops and half turns to look down at her. She catches him glance over her shoulder before speaking.

“You did very well with your training today,” he says. “I’m quite pleased.”

“Well, I--” She is cut off when Varis grabs the ends of the towel and uses them as leverage to pull her in for a kiss.

A slightly strangled noise escapes from the guard that is still minding the door to the training center.

The Warrior squeaks out a laugh as she is released. A quick glance over her shoulder shows her the guard. They are leaning away, an arm half raised as though they may need to defend themselves. She turns away as Varis resumes his course.

The Emperor hums, low and cheerful. “Now, then, about that bath…”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ahh we are at chapter 10 Ahh this was just supposed to be a little one-shot) Thank you all for your lovely comments! They make me happy to read. :)

The Warrior sits perched on the end of the Emperor’s massive bed while watching him get dressed. As usual, he refuses her assistance in putting on most of the pieces. She is still puzzled by this aspect of his habits--from what she has heard from stories of royalty over the years, kings and emperors and the like usually were dressed and bathed and tended to by a whole small army of servants. But Varis rarely lets anyone into his room, aside from the servants that deliver their meals each day. A maid comes in once or twice a week to tidy up and collect the dirty laundry, but not until the Emperor has left for the day. Not even Annia and Julia are welcomed into his private space when he is present.

She is the only one.

She was quick to notice this, of course, it was impossible not to notice within the first few days of her occupancy of his chambers. But, the Warrior is careful not to bring up the subject more than is necessary. For a man in such an extremely public office, Varis zos Galvus is somewhat modest with his private affairs. She would almost call him shy, but doesn’t think that word exists in the Garlean tongue. 

The Emperor stops, back turned to her, one hand holding the mass of his pale hair aside. The Warrior gets up from the bed and goes to him. She stands on her toes to reach in and affix a few buckles on his back before returning to the bed. He lets out a murmur of thanks, nearly a whisper, and picks up his cloak.

She looks to the curtained windows, sees the line of gray light around the edges. A little pang of longing flickers through her heart. “Varis?”

“Hm?” He glances back at her in the dressing mirror while fixing his hair.

“It’s lovely and all here in your quarters most of the time, but it would be nice to get out once in a while.”

“You’ve already been permitted to roam this wing of the palace,” Varis says. There is a faint hint of hesitation in his tone. “Where else would you need to go?”

“Outside?” The Warrior gestures at the windows. “I’ve been here nearly three weeks, and I have no idea what this city looks like.”

He grumps softly and adjusts the line of his circlet. “I’m afraid it is not as exciting or interesting as you might be hoping, Warrior. The layout of the city was an exercise on regularity and careful planning.”

“Like the palace, you mean.”

“Ah--yes, I suppose so, if you are not familiar with the design.” He fusses with the cuff of one of his black sleeves before picking up his gauntlet. “Why the desire to roam, my dear?”

“Because that’s what I’m used to doing, as an adventurer,” she says. “Roaming about, helping people, and all that related business.” She bumps her bare heels against the plush dark green bedcover. “I don’t think I will ever be able to get used to just sitting around all day.”

Varis frowns into the mirror as he pulls on his other gauntlet. “So, you do not think you could be happy here, then.”

“Happy?” She cocks her head and looks up at Varis as he picks up the heavy crown. He runs a fingertip over the curved blackened metal.

“Yes. I want you to be contented. Wherever you are.” The frown lingers as he lifts the crown into place.

The Warrior says nothing as he takes a step back from the dressing mirror. She can hear the leather of his gloves creak as his hands clench into idle fists. She lowers her gaze to the floor.

“I don’t know,” the Warrior slowly says. She bumps her heels again. “How can I be expected to be happy in a place where you have done little more than suffer for the last forty years?”

She hears the clink of his armor as he half turns to look down at her. She waits, knowing she has spoken out of turn.

Finally, Varis murmurs: “And I did everything I could to get out of the place when I was younger.” He huffs out a soft sigh of defeat, and she hears his boot heels grind on the hardwood floor. “Very well. I have an inspection I must carry out later this morning. The facility is not terribly far from here, and I will go on foot. You are welcome to join me, though I cannot permit you entrance to the site.”

She sits up straighter. “Really?”

He nods. His tone is gentle: “Will that suffice?”

“I believe so.” The Warrior gets to her feet. “I will have to thank you later.”

The Emperor shakes his head. “You can thank me after you don’t freeze to death.” 

The Emperor returns to his quarters roughly two bells before the mid-day meal. He finds the Warrior in the midst of doing little restless exercises, but just smiles when she startles and stops at his arrival. He holds out a black greatcoat that is draped over his arm.

“I could not find one with a hood in a size suitable for you,” he says as she comes over to accept the item. “So, you will likely need your cloak as well. I will have to instruct the tailor to find some more suitable outwear for you, but this should suffice for today.”

The coat is heavier than she expects, made of dense black wool and lined with what she now knows is referred to by the Garleans as carbonweave. It smells a bit as though it was pulled out of a storage closet, but she doesn’t comment on that part.

“Thank you, Varis.”

He hums pleasantly over her head. “There are a pair of gloves inside the right interior pocket. My bodyguards said they should fit you.”

The Warrior pulls on the coat, and manages not to laugh when the Emperor leans in to aid her with the buttons. “I feel as though I am accruing a fair amount of debt with them.”

“Think nothing of it,” Varis says. “It is their duty to serve the Emperor. And so, by proxy, it is their duty to make sure you are looked after as well.”

She thinks of Annia and Julia, and is fairly certain that he is exaggerating what the duties of the royal guard entail. “All the same.”

“They will be accompanying me, of course.” Varis adds in a wry tone: “You can thank them if you’d like.”

Now she does laugh, and presses her palm against his gauntlet. “Just let me put my boots on. I don’t want to delay you any further.”

In a short while, the Emperor leads the way out a side entrance of the palace. The day is cold, bitter and biting at the places where the wind gets in under the Warrior’s attire. She walks at Varis’ side, despite her initial protest to the appropriateness of such a placement. Annia and Julia make pace a few yalms behind, and a few other armed guards trail along a greater distance back. The Warrior wonders how much of this is for show, and how much is him being in danger in his own home ground. She cannot tell for certain--the Emperor’s expression is an unreadable, neutral mask--but she feels that she has seen enough of him to tell that he is at ease. He strolls along at a seemingly leisurely pace along the dark gray flagstones of the street, but she knows that he is just matching her own walking speed.

She does not want to make him late. He does not show signs of being in any hurry.

“How does the coat suit you?” the Emperor asks. “Is it warm enough?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she says, running her gloved hands over the sleeves. “Something like this would go for quite a lavish sum of gil back in Ishgard.”

He acknowledges her with a thoughtful hum. “How does the climate compare to here?”

She laces her fingers together in order to resist the urge to place them on the Emperor’s arm. “Ah, well… Ever since the Calamity, it seems as though the Fury has taken a strong hold over her children. Everything is covered in snow and ice, and they have quite horrific blizzards…” The Warrior tilts her head back enough to survey the gray sky overhead. “I suppose it is like Garlemald, in a fashion. But, where the Ishgardians continue to try and fight their environment, and hold on to some dim hope that the cold will recede and things will return to their previous verdant state, it seems like the people here have embraced their frozen fate.”

“Embraced it?” Varis echoes in a dubious tone.

“Well, you’ve become efficient with it, at the least.” She gestures at the skyline of black and gray and steel. “Darker colors absorb heat, and so having your buildings so darkly colored would help keep them warmer. Well, when they’re not covered in snow. Same with your uniforms.”

He chuckles. “I believe it is less an issue of thermodynamics and more one of aesthetics.”

“Oh.” She considers what she has seen of the Empire over the years. “I suppose that makes sense, too.”

“Mm. Though, if you go some malms outside of the Capital and the industrial areas, you will find little pockets of rural towns that went untouched by my grandsire’s aesthetic ‘upgrading’ of a few decades ago. They’re always half buried in snow, but the buildings are often painted a variety of bright colors.” He pokes his fingers in the air before him. “They look like decorations on a frosted cake.”

She smiles. “That sounds cheerful.”

“It does, yes.” He lowers his hand. “I have an aunt that lives in a house like that. It is painted as blue as the cloudless sky.”

For a moment the Warrior is surprised, but then she recalls Varis having mentioned what little living family he has remaining having all fled the palace some years before. She does not ask if he visits her. She knows he doesn’t.

Instead she rubs her arms through her thick black coat. “Aren’t you cold, Varis? I can’t imagine that armor holds in much heat.”

“It doesn’t, but the under armor does well enough. And I am of Garlemald--a little cold is not going to hurt me.”

The Warrior doesn’t bother pointing out that it is scarcely above freezing and a bit blustery. She _was_ the one who had asked to be able to go out on a walk.

“Also, when I go out into the cold, I know that a nice warm cup of coffee will be waiting for me wherever I go inside,” Varis says. “Or perhaps a heated bath in the evening, or a warm bed if I am not stuck at some miserable outpost.”

She leans in a bit, but not so much as to disrupt the careful rattling order of his gait. “Or perhaps a nice warm person to snuggle up to?”

He keeps his chin up and his pose dignified, but she can feel his eyes on the top of her head. “That as well, in more recent times.”

She considers the buildings as they continue on. Everything is stern, serious, black and gray and imposing. She does not see any civilians, and wonders if there simply are none in the Capital at all, or just not this part of the city. It is still fairly busy, with guards posted and soldiers milling up and down the streets. Everyone stops to salute the Emperor when he passes by. Since they are mostly in full armor, it is nearly impossible for her to tell if they are giving her a look or not, but she hopes that covered in dark red and black she is inconspicuous enough to not draw any negative attention.

Varis does not seem to care if she does.

“What are the grates for?” she wonders, pointing down at the tracks that line each side of the road. The noise the Emperor makes at her question can best be described as ‘amused by the smallfolk’.

“It is a complicated system, but many of the streets in the city are heated to a degree by runoff from various processing facilities. Heated water runs underneath the secondary layer of the roadway and reduces the amount of snow that accumulates or ice that forms.”

“Oh. That’s clever, isn’t it?” She thinks the Ishgardians could pick up some quality of life survival tips from the Empire. “I mean, considering how much it snows here.”

His lips pull into an amused smile. “Indeed. The streets have a very slight rise along their centers, and melted snow and ice runs into the grates you observed.”

She thinks of the meltoff that regularly floods the Brume. “Very clever.”

Varis chuckles. He reaches under her dark red hood and briefly traces the back of his pointer finger along her cheek. Then they come to a stop in front of another imposing building, and his posture stiffens.

“Julia,” he says curtly. The black and blue armored bodyguard goes to announce his arrival. Varis tips his head to look down at the Warrior. “I won’t be terribly long. If you need for anything, just let Annia know.”

She smiles up at him. “Of course, Your Radiance.”

His gaze and a faint smile linger on her until Julia returns and holds the door for him. Then the Emperor’s expression returns to its usual gravity, and he disappears inside with his bodyguard.

“It is strange,” Annia muses as the door closes and she posts herself in the proper guard position. The Warrior lingers nearby and tries to angle herself in a spot that is not directly meeting the chilly breeze.

“What is?”

The armored head tilts slightly. “To hear Lord Varis speak so much. Usually, aside from giving very succinct instructions he scarcely speaks at all.” She is silent as several soldiers tromp past. “He is very good at keeping his tongue when others are goading a reaction out of him.” Annia gestures at her face, and the Warrior catches her meaning: That’s why his face is usually stuck in that grimace.

She snorts lightly and rubs the cold away from her nose. “He talks to me a fair amount.”

“We have noticed.” The guard lifts a finger in front of the molded mouth of her helmet. “His predecessor talked a great deal. He was a man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” the Warrior chides softly. “They might come back to haunt you.”

Annia makes a thoughtful noise, and shakes her head. “It is not speaking ill, Lady Warrior. Merely the truth.”

“So, you think that when V--when the Emperor speaks, his words carry more meaning? More weight?”

“I do not know. It does make me glad, though. That His Radiance seems to be in better spirits, despite the loss of Lord van Hydrus.”

The cause goes unsaid, but the Warrior does not need it spelled out for her. She pulls the sides of her hood closer to her face, as though blocking the persistent wind. In reality, she is trying to hide a frown. The promised month is slipping by, more quickly than she had expected. What will happen when it ends? Will the Emperor keep to his word? What if he doesn’t?

What if he does?

They return to the palace to have their mid-day meal. Afterwards, when the Emperor has left the beginnings of a hickey on her shoulder and then gone back to his business, the Warrior of Light sits in the study with her linkpearl in hand. She activates the device, listening to it chirrup properly, before placing it in her ear.

“Good afternoon, this is the Warrior of Light. Please come in. I’m looking for a report on how the wild roses are growing.”

After a half minute of silence, there is a crackle of static and then the sound of Alphinaud crying out her name. “By the Twelve! It’s been two weeks, Warrior. We’ve been worried sick with no word of you.”

“I’m fine, Alphinaud.”

“Thancred even said something about going off to look for you before he left,” the young Elezen says. “Are you still in Garlemald?”

“I am.” She leaves out the part where she’s barely left the same spot in Garlemald since last they spoke. “How is everyone? How do things progress in Gyr Abania?”

“Everyone is alive and well, but anxious with waiting. We have not yet gone to Gyr Abania, but there have been reports of a few small skirmishes breaking out between Imperial patrols and groups from the Ala Mhigan resistance. There is definitely something brewing, something building up, but for now all we can do is wait.”

“I understand.” She tucks her knees up to her chest and sighs before bringing her finger to the linkpearl again. “Is everyone well?”

“As can be, with no progress to be made.” There is regret in Alphinaud’s voice over the line. “I cannot help but feel that were you here, something would have already happened.”

“Then, perhaps it is better that I am not there, Alphinaud,” she suggests. She recalls the Emperor’s words from their first meeting, those months ago back in the Sea of Clouds. “My presence does seem to have a way of exacerbating situations. If I were there, and had gone to Gyr Abania, then things might have become more dangerous.”

“That’s not true,” he says. “Your presence inspires others to fight, Warrior. Men and women who might otherwise meekly lie down and let the Empire continue to step all over them are inspired to stand up and fight for their cause.”

“I am not even of Ala Mhigo,” she muses. “They would be better rallying behind one of their own, wouldn’t they?”

“In theory, yes, but many and more would be willing to fight behind the hero of Eorzea.”

“Perhaps so.” She sighs and looks in the direction of Varis’ desk. He has tacked a lunar calendar onto the wall, the full moon circled in dark blue ink. She counts the days until it will have been a month since they made their agreement. Little more than a week now. “But, it is as I said the last time we spoke, Alphinaud. I will not be able to come and aid in Gyr Abania.”

She hears him sputter again in protest. “But, you are needed here, Warrior!”

“I know, and I do apologize. It is not something I say lightly. I just--” She looks again at the calendar. “--can’t.”

“Why not? What am I to tell the other Scions?”

The Warrior flops back on the cushions and rests her heels on the arm of the couch. “Tell them I am well. I am safe and well tended to. But I am involved in some political negotiations that will prevent my involvement with the Ala Mhigan resistance movement.”

Alphinaud makes an uneasy noise that comes over loud and clear through the linkpearl. “Negotiations? Warrior, when did you learn how to participate in political negotiations? They’re very tricky business. I should be the one--”

She cuts him off. “Alphinaud.” She does not tell him that these are not the sort of ‘negotiations’ that a little Elezen of his age is meant to be involved in. “If I am successful, I will not be able to go to Gyr Abania, but I will remove the necessity of our involvement in future business elsewhere in the world.”

“I would still rather you were here,” Alphinaud says. His tone is quite petulant, and in her mind’s eye she can nearly see him pouting at her and flashing his dark blue eyes in appeal. Luckily, the audio equivalent is not quite as effective as being pouted at in person.

“I know.”

“Please.” Alphinaud’s voice is an open plea. “Please, Warrior, contact us more frequently. Even if it’s to tell us that nothing has changed with you at all. We worry about you, and we--We miss you. You’re part of our family, you know that.”

“I know, Alphinaud,” she says, keeping her tone gentle. “And I miss you all as well. And it is not with levity that I remain away. Especially not from the matters with Ala Mhigo.”

He tries yet again. “I don’t understand why you cannot come and aid us.”

“I hope that I will be able to explain it to you soon enough.” She sighs. “But I can’t just yet.” 

After ending her call with Alphinaud, the Warrior goes for a brief, restless walk through the private wing of the palace. She walks alone, and is left alone by the guards that dot the corridors. One salutes her, before catching themselves and lowering their hand. She just smiles and continues on her path back to Varis’ quarters.

Upon her return she curiously notes that one of the lights in Varis’ bedroom has been turned on in her absence. She hesitates before noticing a wheeled clothing rack now occupying a bit of the space between the bed and the door to the bathing room. While she was on her walk, the tailor has delivered a small variety of things for her to try on. Simple tunica of various cuts and styles, mostly in warm weaves more suitable to the climate than she has been wearing so far. Again, the Warrior of Light finds herself musing that the Empire would be able to get all the resources they wanted trading such warm wearables with Ishgard, but she sets the thought aside. Both sides of such a trade arrangement would be far too proud and stubborn to agree to something so mutually beneficial.

She tries on a few of the tops and trousers. They all fit perfectly, down to how closely the cuffs on one of the longer sleeved shirts button around her wrists. This was artistry, she mused, all thanks to the multitude of measurements the tailor had taken of her a few days previous. She is impressed, and a little overwhelmed that so much care would be put into clothing just for her, just potentially for a few weeks.

At the end of the clothing rack are a few dresses. They are all prim, modestly cut things that do not offer up much to tease the imagination. Is this the style here in Garlemald, she wonders, or just the tailor not knowing what she would prefer to wear? Truth be told, being an adventurer had given her little time or cause to run around in a pretty little dress. However, sitting around here in the palace, it almost seems like a waste of the tailor’s effort to not wear them. Nearly everything on the rack has been of a drab, muted color, or black. Tucked between a dark gray dress and a black dress, however, is something she is not expecting. It is a pretty splash of green, a slightly darker hue that reminds her of the summery greenery lazing in the shadows of Gridania.

The color also reminds her of Varis. Or rather, of a color of which he is plainly fond. She glances around the bedroom, at the dark green bedcovers and all the other green accents that adorn other surfaces. She smiles and carefully pulls the dress from its hanger.

The Warrior is curled up on the couch in the study, book in her lap, when Varis returns from his duties. It is late, the day outside long drifted into darkness. Dinner was delivered at its usual hour, and she was surprised when only one tray was brought in, with a rough approximation of what she usually consumed from what was brought in nightly from the kitchens. She was touched by the realization that Varis must have specified what to have delivered for her from his memory. It was the first time she had eaten dinner alone in weeks, though if she but closed her eyes she could imagine he was sitting there, silently working away on a pastry.

The Emperor quietly closes the main door, and the sound of his low sigh meets her ears before his footsteps resume. He stops outside the study door and softly, cautiously calls her name.

“It’s alright,” she calls. “I’m awake.”

The door creaks as it swings open to admit the Emperor. Varis has removed his crown and has it tucked under his left arm while rubbing at the red spot on his forehead above his third eye.

“My apologies, Warrior,” he murmurs as he slowly strides into the room. “I had to attend a--” His words stop as he opens his eyes and looks down at her on the couch. She looks up at him through her lashes, gauging his reaction to her appearance. She is wearing the green dress, and has her legs tucked up carefully to let the silk pull along her curves.

Varis hurriedly sets the crown on the already cluttered surface of his desk and turns back to look at her. His mouth is slightly open, and his bright eyes are wide. She smiles at him, thinking he looks a bit like the children in the Brume when she helped deliver gifts during the last year’s Starlight Festival.

“Your tailor delivered on his wares while you were out,” she says. “So, I thought I would wear something to surprise you when you returned.”

“I--I see that.” He swallows. “And this one?”

She sets the book aside and gets to her feet, moving within arm’s reach. “I liked it. The color made me think of you.”

He flashes a wavering smile, and his gloved hands gently move to rest on her shoulders. “Did it?”

“Of course.” She watches his gaze travel down her front. “Did you not ask the tailor to include this dress?”

“No. I mean, I told him to include something with color, but I did not specify.” He gives an embarrassed grunt. “I suppose he just selected from one of the colors I usually order things in.”

“It’s a lovely color,” the Warrior says.

“You think so?”

She smiles. “Yes, I do.”

Varis’ hands slide off her shoulders and down her arms. He leans down, mindful of his breastplate, and presses his lips to hers.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles. “I mean, it is. You are.”

The Warrior joins her lips with his. “Thank you, Varis.”

He groans softly and pulls her lower lip between his teeth. “I need--we need--to get undressed.”

She laughs softly as his hands move to grasp at her hips. “And here I thought you liked the dress.”

“I love it,” Varis says, almost sharply. “That’s why I need to get you out of it.”

She reaches up and touches his chin, feels the slight bristle of stubble there and the heat of his breath as he turns to kiss at her fingertips. The dress was definitely a success, she thinks.

“As Your Radiance wishes, Varis.”

He makes a needy noise in his throat and takes her hand. “Come.”

She grins up at him. “I hope to.”

They undress quickly but carefully, urgency in every piece of armor cast aside, a tease in every fastening released from her bodice. Varis’ eyes do not leave her for longer than it takes for him to pull his under armor off over his head. She is nude first and clambers up onto the bed, flopping back into the pillows and twining her arms over her head as she watches him tug off his boots.

“Too much armor,” he says with a breathless grunt. “Maybe I need to look into that court attire the old man was so fond of.”

“I like you in your armor.” She shifts her knees apart enough to tease a finger between her thighs. “And out of it.”

His eyes darken when he sees where her hand has traveled. “Wait for me, won’t you?”

The Warrior licks her lips and laughs. “Varis, dear, I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon.” Her toes curl into the bedcovers. “It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, don’t you know that?”

Varis stares at her, lips parted, before he seems to remember that he is getting undressed. He blushes and mumbles an apology as he works out of his trousers and frees himself from his smallclothes. He climbs onto the bed and crawls toward her. The Warrior giggles and holds out her hands to him, wiggling her fingers encouragingly. He takes a light hold of the hand that had been between her thighs and licks at her fingers. His gaze remains on her.

“Beautiful,” he says.

“You are, yes,” she croons at him. 

Varis lowers himself closer to her body. He trails kisses up her belly, humming as he reaches a ticklish spot just above her belly button and she shrieks with laughter and grabs at his hair. He continues upwards, leaving a wet trail between her breasts and up past her collarbone until he reaches the bruise he left on her shoulder earlier in the day. She feels a flutter of affection in her chest as he tenderly presses his lips to the mark. She tries not to focus on the feeling, instead curling her fingers in his thick hair and giving it a delicate tug.

“You’ve left me like this all afternoon,” she chides. “Now, finish what you’ve started.”

A groan rattles in his throat and against her skin as he positions himself between her legs. “As the lady commands.”

It is the usual snug fit at first, until her body relents and loosens around him. The relaxation is brief, as it only takes a few thrusts for her leg to twitch and curl along his side, and for her inner walls to contract around him. Her body delights in his presence and his enjoyable intrusion. Varis growls out her name. He says something else, but it is muffled by her skin. She thinks she knows what he has said, though, and tries not to dwell on that. She just enjoys the moment, one hand still tangled in his hair, holding his mouth in place while her other hand clutches at his back with enough force to leave a set of reminders etched into his firm muscles.

When he comes his teeth dig into her shoulder nearly to the point of drawing blood and add a more vivid marking next to the bruise he left hours before. His body trembles against hers, and she hooks her ankle around the back of his thigh to discourage him from withdrawing. Despite a hint of risk, she enjoys the sensation of being filled by him. The Warrior untangles her fingers from the mess she has made of his beautiful hair, and drags her palm down his back in a soothing caress. He relaxes, and his weight sinks subtly against hers.

“Rough afternoon, hm?” she asks in a murmur. Varis rests his cheek against her breast and lets out a soft, peaceful sigh.

“Indeed. But I am finding the evening to be much improved.”


	11. Chapter 11

The wind is howling outside the curtain windows. It is a particularly sharp shriek of air against the thick glass that rouses the Warrior from her dreams. She lays in the dark and shivers reflexively at the sound of the wind. She tries to burrow further under the covers to drown out the sound, but the storm outside is relentless.

After a few minutes she feels the mattress shift underneath her, and the heavy hand of the Emperor comes to rest on her back.

“Does something trouble you?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

“The wind woke me up.”

“It is just a blizzard.” Varis hums softly. “You have lived in Ishgard, yes? Do they not have blizzards there?”

“Of course they do,” she says, and presses her face into the covers. “I hate them there, too. The ones at night, at least.”

The hand shifts and pulls her in close, pressing her against his warm skin. “It will be dawn before long, and the storm will pass.”

She presses her cheek to his chest. His hand strokes gently down the back of her head. “The wind doesn’t bother you?”

His head tilts slightly, as though he is listening to the gale. “I have slept through worse. Indeed, I have slept through worse while protected from the raging elements by little more than the thin walls of a tent.”

The Warrior huffs softly. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, then.” His chest vibrates beneath her with a warm chuckle.

“You are no bother, Warrior.” He hums again. “I was already awake.”

“You were?”

“I was.” He sounds amused. “The wind disturbed my sleep.”

She blushes. “I thought you said--”

“The wind catches rather loudly against one of the windows,” Varis says. “I will have the maintenance engineer take a look at it once the storm has passed.” His fingers stroke through her hair again. “Here, I know where it will be quieter.”

The Warrior makes a noise of protest as he slides out of bed. Varis retrieves her from the mess of bedcovers, along with one of the thick dark green blankets, and totes both out of the bedroom and down the hallway. A door creaks, and her nose catches the familiar smells of his study as he creeps into the nearly pitch-black room. The radiator immediately hums to life in response to their arrival. Varis settles down on the couch, the Warrior resting on top of him, and the blanket draped over them both.

Aside from the pleasant hum of the radiator, the room is silent.

“Rest,” he whispers. She half nods, pillowing her head on his firm chest.

She sleeps.

Varis is humming underneath her when she awakes. Her muscles are a touch cramped from the unusual sleeping position, and she squirms against him.

“Ah, my blankets have come to life,” he says with a drowsy chuckle. She feels his lips press against her forehead. He murmurs her name against her skin.

“Thank you, Varis.”

“Mm? What for?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I suppose you need to get up?”

The Emperor sighs softly. “Indeed. I would be inclined to take an office day, but I have a meeting in the morning I would rather not go through the trouble of rescheduling.” He wraps his able arms around her middle and sits up. He grunts softly. “I might be getting too old to sleep on a couch.”

“But you do make a lovely warm pillow,” she says. The Warrior slides off him, taking the blanket with her.

“Oh, no you don’t!” He lurches after her and scoops her up, blanket and all. She squeals out a laugh as he presses a noisy kiss to her collarbone.

“I thought you don’t get cold, Your Radiance!”

He rumbles as he starts down the hall. “That doesn’t mean you can just go taking the blanket.”

The wind is still testing the limits of the windows when they return to his bedroom. Varis sighs and shakes his head, muttering about speaking to the engineers. He carefully deposits her on the bed, and remains stooped over to press a line of soft kisses down from her forehead to her lips. The final kiss is quick and chaste, but he lingers long enough for her to reach up and touch his chin.

“You need to shave,” she says with a playful smile. He grunts and brings a hand to his chin.

“Mm, you are right, for once.” Varis goes to his dressing table and retrieves the robe that is hooked over the corner of the mirror. The Warrior chuckles and swings her feet.

“For once? I’ve seen you shave before, Varis.” She wraps the blanket around herself and follows him into the bathing room. “Can I help you shave?”

“No,” he says plainly as he retrieves his shaving kit from a drawer and begins to set the contents out on the cold marble counter. Still too intimate a task for him to be comfortable with sharing, she supposes.

She tries: “May I watch?”

Varis looks down at her, his expression nearly blank. “Of course.”

She tries again: “Can I brush your hair when you’re done?”

Now the Emperor chuckles. “I do not understand your infatuation with my hair, Warrior.”

The Warrior shrugs and leans against the counter. “I can’t help myself. I’ve never found a man with such lovely hair before.”

Varis’ cheeks pink as he sets down a stoneware mug. “Ah--it’s not--” He glances away. “If you didn’t grab at it so much while we are being intimate I would be inclined to think you were attempting to mock me.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No--I mean--” The Emperor looks away again, busying himself with running the edge of his straight razor across its strop. “I do not mind when you do it. Though, you do have a very strong grip.”

She winks at him. “That’s a hero’s grip, I’ll have you know.”

He clears his throat. “Indeed.” 

The Warrior watches as Varis goes quietly through his shaving ritual. He wets a small towel with warm, nearly steaming water and holds it over his face for several minutes. She smiles, because the Emperor hums softly to himself while doing this, and she thinks he sounds so very content with the world. She is careful not to disturb him. After the towel he lathers up a bit of shaving soap in the stoneware mug before applying it neatly to the lower half of his face. The humming continues, even as he begins the shaving process proper.

She watches his reflection watch itself, golden eyes tracing the movements of his right hand. The Warrior waits until he is tapping a bit of soap off in the sink before speaking.

“Do you think you’ll grow out a beard?”

He glances at her before leaning toward the mirror. “Ah, well, I suppose I will when I get older.” 

She listens to the soft, faint sound of the blade scraping over skin and stubble. “You’re too young to need a beard just yet.” The Warrior idly kicks a foot up behind her. “In my experience, men usually only grow a beard when they’re trying to hide how old they’ve gotten.”

Varis speaks through his clenched jaw. “Or, they’re just tired of shaving.”

“Hm, that too.”

His long fingers pull at the lines worn in his skin as he continues. “I learned of vanity from my grandsire. I was already a father before the old man ever started to grow a beard with intent.”

She laughs softly. “I’ve seen the portraiture of him in the library. He doesn’t look anything like you, Varis. Well, aside from the eyes.”

He rights himself and rinses off the razor. “And for that I am grateful.”

“Well, for what it is worth to you, I think you’re beautiful.”

The Emperor freezes, blade nearly to his upper lip, and looks down at her from the corner of his eye. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

He clears his throat. “Perhaps you’ve let too many monsters knock you about the head.” His tone is wry and self-deprecating, but she catches the flash of a smile before his big hand blocks her view of his mouth.

“What, you think just because you’ve got wrinkles and scars that you can’t be beautiful?” The Warrior smirks up at him. “That’s silly. Everyone gets wrinkles. And every scar has its merit, even if you aren’t proud of how you got it.” She wiggles her foot. “And I think you are very beautiful, Varis. Especially when you smile. You could probably win over half of Eorzea with a proper smile.”

“I--” He pauses, and a blush darkens his cheeks. “You are exaggerating, my dear.”

“Hmm. Your word may be law, Varis, but I am the Warrior of Light, and my word is truth.”

He doesn’t reply, and just looks a touch flustered as he finishes shaving.

He washes off his face with cold water and applies a bit of witch hazel scented aftershave, and says: “Would you get a towel for me?”

The Warrior retrieves one of the pale, mint green towels from the warming rack, and is rewarded with a quick peck on the forehead. “Thank you.”

Varis pats at his face with the fluffy towel. When he is done the Warrior reaches for him, and he politely stoops so that she can touch his face.

“Well, Warrior. Do I pass muster?”

She strokes his smooth skin with a smile. “Yes, I think you did quite well. No nicks or anything, though I pity the razor that fails you.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “As do I.” He tosses the towel into a bin and puts his shaving kit away. “Alright, then. Get the brush and you can have your fun.”

The Warrior watches him amble over to a stool under one of the windows. “Are you mocking me now, Your Radiance?”

Varis pulls out the stool, which seems far too small for a man of his size, and sits with a soft grunt. His golden eyes gleam with amusement. “Not at all, my dear. It is… endearing to see you so enthused to such a menial task.”

“You are mocking me.” She retrieves a hair brush from the counter and taps her nails along the wooden handle as she makes her way over to where the Emperor has seated himself.

“It was an affectionate jest,” he concedes.

She tucks the brush handle under her arm while working at freeing his hair from its braids. “Such cheek so early in the morning, and the sun is scarcely up.” The Warrior combs her fingers through his hair before scratching lightly at his scalp. “Your morning meeting must really be one you aren’t looking forward to.”

Varis sighs, head sagging forward under her attention. “It is necessary. I will endure.”

“Well, you can look on the bright side. I’ll be here when you return.”

His shoulders relax, and she hears him chuckle softly. “That will indeed make the suffering worthwhile.”

She quietly works the boar bristles through the Emperor’s hair, enjoying the feeling of the silky strands slipping between her fingers. Varis’ posture remains relaxed, and he tunelessly hums again. The Warrior continues her enjoyable menial task, and wonders what it might be like to do this more often. She thinks perhaps she could suggest that Varis let his hair down in the evening, when the opportunity presented itself. It would help him relax, she thinks.

“This afternoon,” Varis murmurs after a few minutes. She pauses in brushing, having newly switched to the right side of his head once the left had been laid out smooth and soft.

“Hm?” 

“I have business again after the mid-day meal.” He shifts his weight slightly, and she hears the soft popping of his right knee. “But, afterwards, I will have time for a bit of training practice with you, Warrior. If you would like.”

She smiles and continues her brushing. “Of course I’d like that, Varis. Getting to spend time with you like that is quite enjoyable.”

He chuckles. “Are you certain that is not just because you enjoy the cool-down exercises that follow?”

The Warrior blushes, and is glad he can’t see her face. “You enjoy those just as much as I do, considering how worked up you get whenever I hand your ass to you.”

“You do not--” He stops himself and laughs again. “If anything, it has certainly added to the amount of respectful fear the royal guard offers you.”

She carefully works a small knot free from his hair. “I don’t want them to fear me. I don’t need them to fear me. What good is fear?” Varis makes a curious noise. “Anyone can use fear to gain power. But I… Fear only darkens the heart. It is easier to be kind to people. If you help someone, then there is a better chance than they will respect you and maybe want to help you in return.”

“And the weaponry?”

The Warrior snorts softly. “Kindness isn’t always enough. Some people will die, biting and screaming, before they accept the aid of another.”

For a moment there is only the sound of the boar bristles gliding through the Emperor’s long hair. Then, a murmur of her name, and:

“Your kindness is a great strength. Few can hope to wield such power with such sincerity. Perhaps that is why we fear you. This nation was built on the sword, the closed fist. Not the helping hand.”

“It’s not too late to learn, Varis.” She leans and presses a kiss to the neat line of his parted hair. “As long as you yet live and breathe, there is always room to grow. To become stronger.”

He exhales in a soft sigh. “My grandsire would’ve laughed at your words.”

She feels pity for the man, and slowly strokes a hand down the length of his hair. “Be that as it may, he is not here to browbeat you into submission any longer. Right now it’s just you and just me. And you’re the Emperor now, so whatever bad things your grandfather told you about yourself couldn’t have all been true.”

He whispers her name again. Then he loudly clears his throat. The stool creaks underneath his shifting weight. “Alright, Warrior. ‘Tis time to finish with my hair before our breakfast arrives.”

“Of course, Your Radiance.”

As promised, a few bells into the afternoon the Emperor returns to his quarters. The pair change into their practice gear, and Varis guides her down the tangle of corridors to the training center. 

She has made something of a personal game from their training. When they get into the swing of things, equally dodging and parrying and trading careful blows, the Warrior begins to see just how difficult a time she can give Varis. She puts a bit of her aether into her movements, moving faster than before. It is similar to casting a spell or powering up some special ability, but there is no soul crystal attached. Just herself. She started doing this during their second practice session, and the Emperor does not seem to have entirely caught on yet.

She blocks his swing and counters with a quick swipe at his side. Varis grunts, comes stalking after her, swings again. This time she knocks him into the padded wall. 

“The fires of youth,” Varis grunts as he pushes away from the wall. “You’re proving yourself to be just as troublesome as my son when you want to be.”

The Warrior huffs softly, catching her breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re trying to be clever with your combat,” he says. “Zenos is just the same.”

She frowns. “There’s nothing wrong with being clever, Varis.” She comes over to his side. “Did I hurt you?”

The Emperor grunts softly and shuffles over to the bench. He drops his practice blade on the floor. Alright, so he clearly did notice that she was messing with him. Why was it bothering him today?

“Varis?”

He sits, hunching over slightly and leaning his elbows on his thick thighs. “‘Tis nothing.”

“I didn’t even ask what was wrong.”

“You were going to.” The Emperor frowns now and does not look at her. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

She sets her gunblade down with more delicacy that he afforded his own weapon, and moves nearly to the man’s side. “Varis, tell me something.” She doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge her request. “Tell me what’s wrong with Zenos. Why are you so afraid of him? A man should not fear his own child, so there must be a good reason.”

Varis is silent, so she goes to a cabinet and retrieves two towels. One she drapes over her shoulders, the other she sets next to the Emperor on the bench.

“Please. There has to be something, and I feel like it is something I need to know.” She kneels next to the bench. “You begged me not to go to Gyr Abania, to keep away from him.”

He sits up enough to grab at the towel and press it to the lower half of his face. She hears his muffled sigh. She waits.

“Zenos is a monster.” Varis pillows his chin on the towel. His gaze still does not go to her. “Yes, I know, a man should not speak so poorly of his son. But I speak only the truth. I don’t know what happened to him. He was such a bright boy. But, too quickly everything in the world ceased to interest him. He cared not for the simple things that might bring a boy happiness. He got… bored. Bored and violent. The violence was the only thing that brought him any joy, any sense of meaning in his life.”

“You think so?”

“He said so himself. And so he settled into violence. His ‘hunt’, he calls it. An endless, fruitless search for the perfect prey.”

“So, you sent him away.”

“When he was older, yes. ‘Tis better to allow him to take his thirst for blood out on the savages than the people of Garlemald--though I have read enough reports from Gry Abania to know he affords little more courtesy to the men of his own Legion.” The Emperor risks a look at her. He looks distressed, she thinks.

“So you... “ The Warrior considers her words. “You feel as though you failed at being a father.”

She sees him clench his teeth as he looks away again. “To say that I have been a bad father would be to severely undersell just how completely I failed at the task.”

“Why?” she wonders in a gentle tone. Varis bristles.

“‘Why’? I don’t know. I had no proper example of how to be a father. I can scarcely remember my own father, and to call my grandsire a proper parental figure is laughable at best.” He leans his weight onto his fists, and his shoulders hunch forward.

She presses, though sense tells her not to: “And Zenos?”

For a moment he says nothing. Then: “His mother died when he was naught but a babe. And I was never there when I should have been. I may as well have been whipping him, for all the good my absence did him. He was a bright boy, but just...” Varis lowers his voice to a whisper. “Something is wrong with him. And he has grown to be more monster than man. It is that simple.”

The Warrior of Light has seen enough ‘bad’ men in her tenure as savior of Eorzea to know that it is never that simple.

“Do you think him beyond saving?”

Varis does not look at her, but she sees his head jerk in reaction. “Saving?”

“Is Zenos yae Galvus beyond redemption? Is he too great a monster?”

The Emperor hesitates. “It is my inclination to say yes.” He shakes his head. “It would have been so much easier to have just… Found cause to have him eliminated.” Now he sits up, looks up at her, still frowning. “But he is my son. He is a monster of my making. I am responsible for the damage he causes in the name of the Empire.”

“Ah. And so you put him someplace where his damage could at least be productive to the cause.”

Varis nods. “He is my named heir, though I do not think him suitable for the task.”

She thinks again of his plea for her to stay out of Gyr Abania. That he would sacrifice Garlemald’s hold on Doma just to keep her away from Zenos…

“Thank you, Varis.”

There is a question in his soft grunt.

“For being honest with me.” She holds her hand out to him, and he looks up, blinking owlishly in surprise. “What, you expect me to dismiss you just because you were a bad father?”

“Yes,” he admits. The Warrior shakes her head.

“Perhaps you are right about your son. Perhaps there is just something greater wrong with him than neglectful fathering.” She thinks of some of the men she knows, some of the finest men of Ishgard. “Plenty of people have neglectful, even abusive fathers, and they do not become monsters themselves.”

Varis’ hand dwarfs hers as he takes it in his own. “You are again far too forgiving, Warrior of Light. Your kindness will get you killed one day.”

She smiles at him. “I know. But, I’d rather go down that path than the one sown only with blood and vengeance.” The Warrior leans in and kisses his knuckles. “I can teach you, if you are willing to learn.”

“Do you think so?”

“Benevolence may be simply part of a man’s nature, yes. But it is also something that can be taught and shared. Like a waterskin after a hard fought battle.”

He runs the rough surface of his thumbprint over the back of her hand. “How is it you can suffer so much and yet still hold such grace in your breast?”

“I could ask much the same of you.” She laughs gently at his stammering noise of protest, and gives his hand a light tug. “Come on. I think we’ve had enough practice for one afternoon. Why don’t we go back to your quarters and take a nice bath?”

“Ah--” His pupils dilate at the suggestion. “I like that idea.”

They towel off and head back down the halls. The Warrior thinks she recognizes a few of the corridors they tread, but is not certain. They all still look so similar. She comments on this to Varis, but the Emperor just chuckles and pats her on the hip, telling her that she will learn with time. All things with time.

Near to the end of the last hallway before the door that blocks off the Emperor’s private wing from the rest of the palace, a courier stands waiting for their leader. Varis stops and the Warrior lingers behind him.

“Your Radiance,” the courier says with a crisp salute. “You wanted a message delivered as soon as word came from the Senate. After this morning’s meeting?” The messenger holds out a sealed envelope. “Their words, delivered as promised.”

“Ah, yes.” Varis takes the envelope and scratches his initials into a pad that the messenger holds out with their other hand. “Very good. You are dismissed.”

The Warrior watches the messenger stride off before returning her attention to her companion. Varis has cracked the seal on the missive and squints slightly at the piece of paper in his hand.

“What is it?” she wonders, though she doubts he’ll tell her. It isn’t her business, after all.

For a moment he says nothing aloud. His lips move silently as he reads. When he is done reading he folds the paper and taps the creased edge against the palm of his hand. There is a thoughtful cast to his features.

“‘Tis word from the Senate. They have approved going ahead with the funding for my orders.” He opens the door to the private hall. He gestures at the door and follows the Warrior through.

“What orders, Varis?”

The corners of his mouth twitch upwards for a moment. “My orders implementing the restoration of the sovereignty of the nation of Doma.”


	12. Chapter 12

The Emperor refuses to say anything further on the matter of Doma until they return to his quarters. In fact, he scarcely says a word at all until he has drawn a bath and they are both seated side by side in the warm water. The Warrior sits next to him, hands on her knees, mind a tumble of thoughts and questions. She has to admit, she has not truly been expecting for the mighty emperor of Garlemald to actually follow through with her demand for the freedom of Doma. And now that he has indeed delivered on his promise, she is unsure of what to think or do.

She thinks: This means you can leave now, if you want to.

But, does she want to? She isn’t certain. There are certain creature comforts she has come to enjoy here at the palace--the companionship of the seemingly grouchy emperor being high on that list. However, Garlemald is not home. She remains aware of that every day, during the long lulls when Varis is off performing his duties and her bored thoughts drift back to her own missed duties back in Eorzea. During those long hours she sometimes thinks of the Scions, of the Ishgardians, of all the other sundry peoples of Eorzea who want for her aid. It makes her restless, leads her to pace the private halls, makes her want to leave and get back to work.

The urge to leave is there, yes. She misses her friends and family among the Scions. She wonders if she would miss Varis whenever she left. Would he miss her?

The Warrior wonders.

“So, you actually did it,” she says, breaking the silence. Varis gives a soft grunt.

“I did.” His muscles flex as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Did you think I would not?”

“Part of me wondered.” She looks at her hands. “You had not given much of any indication that you were really working on your part of the deal.”

“I am a man of my word,” Varis says. “However, liberating an entire nation is not a quick or easy process. There will be resistance and suspicion on both sides. The families of those soldiers who perished in the taking and keeping of the territory have to be soothed, which comes out of state coffers. I had to come up with a valid reason why Garlemald should just let the land go, why they would not be needed.” He grunts. “I could not be straightforward and honest and tell them that it was part of an agreement I made with the Warrior of Light.”

The Warrior tilts her head to the side to look up at him. Varis is staring at the ceiling.

“What did you tell them?”

“That the extremely depleted resources available in Doma were no longer worth our time and effort of continuing to maintain. A great number of troops are required to be stationed in Doma to keep order, however superficially.” He shifts his legs, and a pale knee pokes out of the water. “It is not a lie. Just only a selection of the truth.”

She considers this choice of action. “So you would just leave them to their fates?”

Varis huffs a low laugh. “Ah, I knew you would say that, that you would protest just abandoning the Domans to their fate. It would only drive them further into the arms of the Eorzeans for support. I had to think past just the first step.” He sounds amused at his own words.

“So? What is after the first step?”

“Garlemald has a great deal of structural engineers in its employ, and with a current lack of new conquests many of them languish with nothing new to work on building or repairing. The full withdrawal of Garlean forces is estimated to take several months, and during that time our engineers will aid in the reconstruction of systems and production facilities that had been abandoned or otherwise destroyed during the last few decades.”

“To help them get back on their feet.” She smiles at his nod. “That’s a good start, Varis.”

“The arrangement also includes concessions to help with trade--there are still some products that the Doman people produce which are beneficial to Garlemald.”

“What does Garlemald offer in return?” she asks.

“Gold and processed ceruleum, mostly. Further construction assistance as necessary. Whatever else might be needed to help smooth things along.”

The Warrior hums thoughtfully. She is surprised by just how much work Varis really has put into their agreement. She in return barely has to lift a finger, as frustrating as that idleness might be.

“So, what do you think?”

She looks at him. “I’m… pleasantly surprised.”

His lips push into what would have been a pout on anyone else’s face. “What, you did not think I meant what I said when we made our agreement? You don’t think your safety is worth a little effort on my part?”

“I--I don’t know. I wasn’t aware you were really that serious.”

Varis is quiet. “I would have given you Gyr Abania’s freedom, were that possible. The region is just a miserable salt lick. In truth it is only valuable for its greater proximity to Eorzea and its riches.”

The Warrior sighs and shakes her head. “If only Garlemald had something useful that they could use in trade with the Eorzean states so that you could have access to their materials without wasting additional lives and lesser resources in order to obtain them by force.”

The Emperor grimaces. “I don’t like the sarcasm in your tone.”

She wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Neither do I. But it is an unfortunate reality I have to consider whenever I think about Garlemald.”

They soak in silence.

When the water begins to cool, he says: “I want you to stay, Warrior.”

She looks away, to the far wall. “I know.”

“Do you want to stay?”

She says nothing. She does not know.

Three days pass, doused in an uncomfortable unspoken tension between she and the Emperor. Varis is plainly distracted by her inability to tell him what she wishes to do. He stops asking when it becomes evident that he is not going to get an answer from her, not right away. She wishes she had an answer--doubly so wishes she already had an answer that he would like. She is not sure why that is the case.

The Emperor is not cruel. He does not withhold his affections in exchange for a decision. In truth, aside from his initial pleas for her to stay, he has ceased to bring up the subject. But the request remains, and she knows he waits for her answer.

In the quiet chill of the morning she wakes before him, as ever, half wrapped in his arms and pinned under his sleeping weight. She remains entrenched there while again weighing the pros and cons of her options. Either choice will lead her to potentially causing strife across the realms. There is no easy answer.

She settles for snuggling against his chest and watching him sleep.

Later in the day, nearing the mid-day bells, Julia knocks on the door to Varis’ quarters. She looks serious, if it were possible to infer her expression through her posture, as the Warrior keys the door open and peers out into the dark hallway.

“Is something wrong?”

“The Emperor is requesting your attendance in the throne room,” Julia says. “He says that you should dress properly and wear something with a hood.”

The Warrior hesitates. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Julia stares at her silently for a long moment before sighing. “His Radiance is to receive an envoy from Doma shortly. He wants you there in attendance.”

“Oh.” She considers this, and then nods. “Of course. Will you wait for me? I’ve never been to the throne room before.”

Julia nods. “Yes, Lady Warrior.”

The Warrior changes into one of the dresses the tailor made for her. She chooses the dark gray over the black, and pulls her cloak on over the dress. After checking her appearance in the dressing table mirror, she pulls on her boots and returns to where the royal guard is still waiting out in the hallway. The door to the Emperor’s quarters beeps as it locks behind her.

She lets Julia lead the way to the throne room. She probably could find the place on her own if pressed, but would rather let the guard do her job. The dimensions of the throne room are impressive, ceiling even higher than the already vaulted heights of the preceding hallways. Everything is huge, as though intended for people that were two or three times taller than the already towering Garleans it was built for. There is a slight chill in the room--even the advanced ceruleum heating systems can not warm it properly.

The throne, down at the end of a length of red carpet, is a monstrosity of black and gold perched upon a tiered dais. Varis is standing down at the foot of the dais, back to the entryway, seemingly speaking to Annia, when the Warrior and Julia arrive.

Julia salutes when she reaches the end of the carpet. “We have returned, sire.”

“Good.” 

The Warrior watches Julia move to her station on the opposite side of the dais stairs from her sister. Varis turns after a moment and looks down at her. He holds out a gloved hand and beckons.

“You’re giving audience to the Domans, Your Radiance?”

“Yes. And, should you not object, I would like to give you the credit you deserve,” he says. “Should they ask.”

“And if they don’t?”

Varis takes her hand between his own. His shoulders sag for a brief moment. “I would still want you here. To enjoy the merits of your actions.” He kisses her palm before letting it go. “You can stand off to the side. Just don’t…” He frowns. “Just don’t slouch, and you should be fine.”

“Varis…” She looks away and squares her shoulders. “As you wish, Your Radiance.”

The Emperor makes his way up the stairs. When he sits on the throne his posture is stiff. From down where she stands it seems that Varis is nearly perched on the edge of the seat. He braces his palms on his thighs. She wonders: does he not know how to sit on his own throne? The Warrior thinks of him back in his quarters, relaxed in some armchair or another, and feels a touch of pity. She thinks she hears him sigh as he adjusts his weight on the throne.

A guard far back at the entry door announces the arrival of the Doman envoy. Nearby, Julia does not move a muscle, as though this duty is far too commonplace for her to show any interest. The Warrior, though, is curious, and moves closer to the base of the dais to watch from under the anonymity of her cowl. She stares at the Doman guests as they make their way up the long carpet that leads to the throne. It is during that long walk that she recognizes one of the two--a female Au Ra with black hair and garbed in purple. It takes her mind a moment to come up with a name--Yugiri--but when she does the Warrior wonders how her memory could have slipped so badly.

“Oh, _those_ Domans,” she hisses under her breath. How had she forgotten about the Doman refugees that she had helped find a new home at Revenant’s Toll? She suddenly feels terribly out of place in the throne room. She can feel Varis’ gaze piercing the top of her head, even though he has not visibly budged upon the throne. She retreats a bit and makes sure that the hood of her cloak is secured.

The envoy greets the Emperor of Garlemald with what must be meticulous politeness, but the Warrior quickly stops listening to their words. She is distracted, wondering how she could have possibly forgotten about the Doman refugees that had fled to Eorzea many moons before. She had personally spent weeks helping them find a place to stay, and then later helped them get settled in at Revenant’s Toll. How had she forgotten that while in private with Varis? Perhaps it was nothing--a month ago her mind had been swamped with dealings in Ishgard and her present situation. She already had enough on her mind. And yet--

She is drawn from her thoughts by Julia very subtly grinding her left heel on the floor. The Warrior blinks and tries to focus.

The envoy is speaking: “And while we are quite grateful for what Garlemald has decided to do for Doma, we must admit to being perplexed by its offering. It is quite sudden, with no real cause for happening, and so there are some of us that cannot help but fear it is naught but some sort of Garlean… trickery.”

“‘Trickery’?” The Emperor echoes this, and she cannot deny the slight hint of amusement in his tone. Yugiri catches it, and she shakes her head at the envoy and whispers something to them.

“Do not think of us as being unthankful for this second chance,” the envoy says hurriedly. “But, despite the reasoning given on the documents your administrators have given us, we don’t see the real reason we are being let go.”

“And so you expect some sort of foul intent.” Varis is calm, though something amused lingers in his tone. “Children of Doma, you do realize that were there some kind of malicious intents behind my actions, I would not admit them to your face?”

“I--Yes, Your Radiance.” The envoy looks at Yugiri, plainly frustrated.

“But, I shall give you the truth, should you want to hear it.”

Yugiri blurts: “Please!”

The leather of the Emperor’s under armor creaks as he pushes himself up out of the throne. He paces to the edge of the dias and stares down at the Domans. For a moment he looks to his left, and to the visitors it must seem he is looking at Julia. Perhaps to them he looks concerned, as though the guards did not perform a thorough enough weapons check before admitting them into the throne room. In truth, it is the Warrior who catches his gaze, and he does not move again until she nods at him.

“Very well. Some weeks ago, a guest of the palace asked that I freed the people of Doma. And so I did.”

Yugiri and the envoy stare up at him dumbly. When Yugiri finally finds her voice she says: “That was all it took? Someone just had to ask?”

“All it took was the right person asking, yes.” He stands up straight and tall, and the Warrior feels a little flutter in her belly as she takes in his impressive stance. “As the Emperor of Garlemald, I am the greatest of this land. And so it is fitting that only the greatest of Eorzea should have my ear.”

Again the Domans are silent, confused.

“Surely you must know who that person is?” He slowly begins to descend the stairs. “No? You cannot name the person whose beautiful might towers over all of Eorzea?”

Underneath her cloak, the Warrior blushes. She wonders whether Varis always turns to such theatrics when dealing with his court. Perhaps it is something he unintentionally picked up from his grandfather. Or, perhaps this is just how he reacts to being nervous in a somewhat public situation. The Warrior is fairly certain that he is nervous--not regarding the Domans, but because of her own presence in the throne room.

“Forgive us for not being certain of whom you speak,” the envoy says. Yugiri frowns and nods in agreement.

Varis chuckles lowly. “I suppose your ignorance can be forgiven, as you are not of Eorzea.” His pale eyes cut toward Yugiri. “Even if some of you have made your home there.”

Yugiri grits her teeth and looks to the floor. “We have done what we had to do to survive, Emperor. Garlemald has stripped us of nearly everything we had.”

The Warrior looks and can see that Varis is looking down his nose at the Domans. She understands why--he cannot help but hold on to a young man’s disdain for the conquered. Of what little Varis had spoken to her of the Domans, he himself had still been a young man when the conquering of Doma had occurred. His son had been but a babe, and he himself newly widowed, and his grandsire had refused to let him leave the palace to aid in the taking of the nation. He hadn’t liked to talk a great deal about Doma--it had made him think too much about that unpleasant chapter of his past.

And now he is having to stare all that down.

The Warrior feels guilty, but is unable to say anything.

The Emperor is saying: “You still have your farmlands.”

“Yes,” Yugiri says, still frowning. “We are grateful for you not burning and salting them on your way out of our lands.”

Varis purses his lips and stares down at the little woman.

“That all being said.” He bites off each word. “I will let you thank your savior in person. Hopefully you can at the least show her some gratitude.” Varis half turns to his left to beckon to her, and while he is facing away from the envoy his expression temporarily softens. “I do believe you are familiar with the Warrior of Light?”

The Warrior rounds the side of the dais, crossing past Julia’s inert form and stopping a few yalms away from the Emperor. When she lowers her hood it spurs a gasp from the Au Ra woman. Varis flinches when Yugiri cries out her name. The young woman ignores decorum and runs over, bolting to the Warrior and throwing her arms around her in a hug.

“Oh, kami be praised! I know the Scions said that you were being kept somewhere in Garlemald, but I did not think you would be so easy to find!”

The Warrior rests her palms on the ninja’s shoulders and gently pushes her away. “What are you talking about, Yugiri? The Scions know where I am.”

“You told them that you were in Garlemald and had been in talks with the Emperor. That doesn’t narrow it down more than somewhere in the capital.” Her tone is chiding, but Yugiri is all relieved smiles now. “When I spoke with the Scions via linkpearl yesterday, they thought it would be a good idea to send someone in to find you. So, I volunteered for the mission.”

The Warrior murmurs: “Naturally.”

“I must admit, we don’t know why you would have chosen to continue aiding the refugees in this fashion, but we are quite grateful.” Her tail flicks once. “As your mission is completed, you will be returning to Eorzea now, yes?”

“I--ah--” She looks over the woman’s shoulder in Varis’ direction. He is not looking at her, and is instead keeping his nearly neutral scowl fixed on the envoy. “Perhaps so, once I finish tying up a few loose ends.”

“The Scions will be overjoyed for your return, especially with the way the situation is starting to decay in--” Yugiri stops and glances uneasily at the Emperor.

“No, do go on,” Varis grinds out. Yugiri schools her expression.

“All the same, I won’t be leaving with you,” the Warrior says. “It is better that I don’t go to Doma right now.”

“If you think that is the best course.”

“Do not worry, Yugiri. I still have my linkpearl. I can contact the Scions myself.”

“Please do, Warrior of Light. They miss you greatly, and are waiting for you to return home.”

After a few minutes more of admittedly uncomfortable conversation between the Emperor and the envoy, the Domans leave the throne room to be treated to the mid-day meal. The Warrior does not move, but finds that she has been struck by an unexpected pang of homesickness. Yugiri’s presence has reminded her of the many friends she left behind in both Ishgard and at Revenant’s Toll. She feels guilty for having made them wait and worry for a month, while she stayed off indulging herself in enemy territory.

She hears the sound of Varis’ boot heels as he crosses from the edge of the red carpet to the dark tiles adjacent.

“Warrior?”

She swallows and looks up at him. “Yes, Your Radiance?”

“You knew one of our guests? I thought you said you knew nothing of Doma.”

Heat flashes on her cheeks. The Emperor’s posture is stiff and unwelcoming, and he is squinting down at her with a hint of suspicion.

“I--” The Warrior frowns and looks at the floor between them. “I know it is difficult to believe, but I sincerely forgot about them. I mean--” She sighed. “I do not know how to explain it.”

“Try.”

She looks up again, takes in his somewhat cross expression. “It was some time ago, before I ever first ventured to Ishgard. A group of refugees came to Eorzea seeking shelter. They were led primarily by Yugiri. Their case, so to speak, was eventually picked up by the Scions, and the refugees were settled in Mor Dhona. I helped with the task.” The Warrior shakes her head slowly. “They were refugees from Doma. But, I suppose I just--I don’t know. For some reason my mind did not make the connection when you mentioned Doma last month.”

The Emperor moves closer and looms over her. After a long moment he closes his eyes and huffs a sigh.

“I believe you.”

“You do? I mean--”

“You’ve never given me cause to doubt your honesty,” Varis says. “You just seem to have a slippery memory at times.”

She exhales. “Oh, you know. Too many knocks to the head.”

Varis nods. He half turns and looks at the door. She follows the line of his gaze to where the Domans had recently departed.

“Now, what say you? About the rest of what the Au Ra woman said to you.”

She thinks of what Yugiri said to her. She again thinks of the friends and adopted family she has left behind in Eorzea, and makes an uncomfortable realization.

The Warrior says: “I want to go back to Ishgard.”

Varis freezes in place, ribs jerking as though she had stabbed the point of her gunblade between them. His expression is difficult for her to piece together--surprise and dismay entwined and melded with a frozen flash of anger.

“Do you?” His voice is tight.

“Varis, Your Radiance, you have been a peerless host, but I… I miss my friends and family. I miss the Scions.”

He turns and stares down at her. “I kept to our agreement.”

“And I will keep to it as well. I will not step foot in Gyr Abania, on my word.” She hesitates. “If that means aught to you.”

“It does.” The Emperor breathes out her name, and his shoulders slump. “You came here of your own volition, and you have always been free to leave of it as well. You are the Warrior of Light, and no prisoner of Garlemald.”

“Thank you, Varis.”

For a moment he says nothing. Then he squares his shoulders and sets his teeth. He turns away. “You should go, then.”

“Wh-what, right now?”

“Yes. Should you tarry any longer, I might change my mind about allowing you to leave.”

Julia and Annia are staring straight ahead, unmoving, but she can still feel Julia’s eyes on her when she moves to touch the fabric of the Emperor’s cloak.

“Varis!” His muscles are tense under her touch, and she withdraws her hand.

“Julia, see the Warrior back to my quarters. Let her gather her things. I will have a transport prepared to take her to Mor Dhona.”

The guard salutes him. “Yes, sir.”

The Warrior doesn’t move until Julia touches her shoulder.

“Lady Warrior?”

“No, just a minute--” She scrambles around the pillar that is the Emperor. He is staring straight again, face pinched into an approximation of an impassive mask. “Varis, please! You can’t just--”

“I don’t think you understand, Warrior.” His voice is tight. His body does not move, but his eyes shift to look down at her. “I do not want you to leave. Were it my inclination, you would stay here forever, and not a soul in this nation would have a say otherwise. But I will not keep you caged here. I will not keep you from doing what is best for you, and whatever greater good you serve.” He closes his eyes. “Go.”

She stares up at him, but he refuses to look at her. When Julia touches her shoulder again, the Warrior lets herself be led away.

The Warrior follows Julia back to Varis’ quarters.

“Is he mad at me?” she wonders aloud. Julia doesn’t say anything. “I can’t tell. I don’t want him to be mad at me.” She wonders when that feeling settled in her breast as something not attached to the dread of being at the Empire’s mercy. “I just. I need to go home. They need me.”

The guard still says nothing, and remains silent as she keys open the door lock.

She stares into the royal bedchambers. This morning she awoke safely held in the Emperor’s arms, and she had no indication that she would be leaving so suddenly. And now--

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says to herself as she opens the cabinet to retrieve her pack. “I should have just--” She quiets herself. She should have just what? Not told him the truth--that she misses Eorzea and the Scions and quietly longs to return to her duties. Even if she can not directly help out in Gyr Abania, there are always plenty of other problems that need addressing in Eorzea. It is a land of endless conflict--a world where heroes are desperately needed. Where she is needed.

Still, when she sets her pack down on the bed, she feels a twinge of regret as she looks at the plush green covers. It would have been nice to have stayed a little while longer. There is a certain appeal to the lavish conditions, and to the generous attention of her host. And the host himself…

She sighs and shakes her head. “We both knew this was just a tryst.”

It does not take long to restore her pack. She refills it with what she brought with her to Garlemald, and nothing more. She does not change out of the gray dress, but taking anything more than the warm black coat feels like an excess she is not welcome to. The Warrior takes a last look in each room before finally leaving the Emperor’s quarters behind. Julia is still waiting out in the hallway. There are no words exchanged before the guard turns on her heel and leads the way out to the loading docks.

She is met there by a soldier who leads her to one of the transport carriers. 

“His Radiance wishes to speak with you before you board,” the crewman says. “I can stow your bag while you wait.”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” The Warrior releases her grip on her pack and lets the soldier take it away. She rubs her arms through her coat, glad now that she had permitted herself to take at least this luxury with her. She stares back toward the main building.

She does not have to wait long for the Emperor to appear at the loading dock. His step is loud and hurried, and the Warrior is surprised to see that he is not empty handed.

“Thank you for waiting,” he says.

She just nods: “Of course.” There’s no point in telling him that she couldn’t leave without him seeing her off. The crew was strictly following his orders.

“I--” He holds out a small leather satchel. “You will miss lunch.”

The Warrior smiles despite the lingering tension. “Varis… thank you.” She takes the satchel and hugs it against her chest. “I’ll wait to eat until we clear any turbulence.”

His cheeks pink, and he clears his throat. “Yes, yes. Good.” Varis reaches behind himself under his cloak. She hears a faint clink of metal, and then brings a gunblade around to his front. He holds it out to her, the blade flat against his palm. “You left this. I mind not if you leave the other things, but this is yours, Warrior. I gave it to you for you to keep.”

She does not protest. After tucking the satchel under her left arm, she holds out her free hand. Varis rests the hilt in her open palm, and its weight settles there with familiar density. There is a dark gray leather strap looped around the barrel of the blade, and she recognizes the metallic catchall on the harness as the gunblade’s back holster. She swallows.

“I still don’t think I deserve something like this.”

“It was a gift, Warrior. You don’t have to deserve a gift.”

She lets the flat of the blade rest on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

They stand in mutual silence for a minute. Finally, it is Varis who clears his throat against the quiet.

“Know that I wish you would stay,” he says, straightening his shoulders. His lips flatten into a thin line. “But, I know that you have your own duties that you must fulfill, just as I have my own.”

She looks up at him. “I will not speak ill of you, Varis.”

His brows lift in a smooth movement before dropping low over his eyes again. “You can say whatever you wish, Warrior. You know they will believe nothing from you that is not slander.”

She isn’t sure that he is wrong about that, though she also knows that he is no innocent. But then, neither is she.

The Emperor clears his throat again. “The transport will take you directly to the Castrum in Mor Dhona. It might alarm the locals, but it will be the safest place for them to allow you to disembark.” She nods, and after groping at his pockets he holds out his gloved hand. “Here. One more thing for you.” Unfolding his big fingers reveals what looks like a small playing card cast in cermet. The surface on one side is covered in a series of coded markings, while the other bears the Imperial insignia. “If, for any reason, you should need the assistance of someone in the Empire, just show them this card. It will identify you as an… associate of Garlemald. It will gain you aid, should you need it.”

The Warrior takes the card, which is heavier than it appears. She looks up at him. “A tracking device?”

The smile that he flashes at her is undeniably tainted by regret. “No, not this time. No one will harry your path upon your departure. Not anyone from the Empire, at least.”

“Thank you, Varis. I will have to find a safe place to hide this from my allies.”

He nods, the movement stiff. “I--” The Emperor hesitates. “It has been a pleasure, Warrior of Light, to have had the chance to get to know you. It has been most enlightening.”

She swallows. “Aye, I feel like I’ve learned a great deal about Garlemald.”

Varis murmurs her name and presses his lips to her forehead. “Goodbye, my dear Warrior. I wish you safe travels.”

The flight from Garlemald to Mor Dhona is long, but uneventful. Most of the crew ignore her, busy with maintaining their attention on screens and keeping their eyes peeled for any possible trouble from the ground. One of the crew, coming back from a bathroom break, takes pity on her and shows her how to properly put on the gunblade’s holster.

She does not eat until her stomach pinches with hunger, and by then the transport craft has crossed out of Garlean territory. The Warrior eats slowly, but struggles not to close her eyes and imagine the Emperor brooding over his coffee.

When the dark treetops of the Black Shroud loom into view below the craft, the Warrior steps to the back of the craft and activates her linkpearl.

“This is the Warrior of Light reporting. Please have the wild roses ready for inspection at the Stones. I’ll be home soon.”

She deactivates the linkpearl again before waiting for any answer, and returns to her seat. 

The Warrior knows they are close when the sky darkens and becomes choked with swirling dark pink clouds. 

In less than ten minutes, the Warrior of Light has left the Empire behind. The soldiers at Castrum Centri watch her disembark from the transport, possibly some of them still remembering her last foray into the base. Still, they salute her and open the gates so that she can depart without the slightest hint of protest. She is almost disappointed.

The Warrior watches the transport lift back into the shimmering magenta sky and hurry back to the northeast. Considering the roiling miasma overhead, she deems it safer to walk to Revenant’s Toll. As she shoulders her pack and starts to make her way up out of the swampland, she idly hopes no one says anything about the gunblade strapped to her back. 

Her arrival has not gone unnoted, which is not a surprise considering how infrequently Imperial transports are seen approaching Castrum Centri these days. By the time she is weaving around giant disinterested toads, the Warrior can see figures standing on the town’s western wall. A few more figures are gathered at the gates, and as she rounds the final bend she hears someone cry out her name. Two figures push through the crowd and scramble down to meet her.

The Warrior is nearly knocked over by the Leveilleur twins, Alisaie more shamelessly throwing her slight weight into a tackle of a hug, while Alphinaud more politely and yet just as forcibly grabs at the arm not balancing her pack. They both babble excitedly at her, and she thinks Alphinaud might be trying to hide tears. Yda appears after another minute, Papalymo tottering after her with a reserved smile on his face.

“Welcome home, Warrior!” Alphinaud cries. She laughs and hugs him, pressing her cheek into his snowy white hair.

“Look at you. I was gone a whole month and you haven’t grown an ilm!”

“Neither has Alisaie!”

They all laugh, and the Warrior of Light lets the twins tug her hands and lead her back into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [If you’d like to go with the bittersweet ending, you can stop reading the fic now. If you want to continue on because Varis needs a happy ending, darnit, then please continue reading.]


	13. Chapter 13

When things calm down, the Scions head inside to the relative privacy of the Rising Stones. They sit at one of the round tables, extra chairs being dragged in so no one has to stand. At Tataru’s behest, Ephemie brings over a bottle of wine and several glasses.

“So, you heard of Doma, then?” The Warrior takes a sip from her glass.

“Yes, from Yugiri. She was in communications with us yesterday,” Papalymo says.

“Yeah, out of the blue, the Empire just decided to give Doma their freedom!” Yda waves a hand. “Just like that! No fighting at all!”

“You sound disappointed,” Y’shtola observes in an amused tone.

“Yeah, no--Why couldn’t they just let Ala Mhigo go, then?” Yda huffs and crosses her arms.

“It wasn’t so simple a thing, to just free Ala Mhigo,” the Warrior says. “The Empire still desires to conquer Eorzea for its resources. They would not just give up the closest foodhold they have.”

“You were in Garlemald, Warrior,” Alisaie says. “Why didn’t you try to convince him not to keep trying to take over Eorzea?”

“I was only there a month,” the Warrior says with a laugh. She traces her fingertip around the lip of her glass. “Perhaps if I had been there longer.”

Alphinaud scoffs faintly. “Besides, the Warrior of Light is a fighter, not a diplomat.” 

She glances at him sideways. “That was me, though.”

“What?”

The Warrior looks among the assembled Scions, at their eager, slightly concerned faces all turned to look at her. She looks from face to face, and smiles.

“I must tell you all the truth,” she says. “I am the one responsible for the freeing of Doma.”

The Scions all make varying cries of surprise, except for Papalymo.

“I suppose I owe a few gil to Master Thancred when he returns,” the lalafell mutters. Yda laughs and nearly strikes him in the head with her elbow.

“You did?” Alisaie pipes up. “But how? Why? Have you even been to Doma?”

“I couldn’t find it on a map,” Yda admits.

The Warrior smiles and shakes her head. “I’m afraid I have little knowledge of the nation itself, beyond our interactions with the refugees.”

“Then, why strive for its freedom?” Alphinaud asks. “And at what cost to your own?”

She looks at the little Elezen and shakes her head. “No cost to my own. He--Emperor Varis was not holding me prisoner, if that is what you are suspecting. I was free to leave at any time.”

The Warrior isn’t sure whether or not her friends need to know about the pardon. It is something she pondered during the flight back from Garlemald, but still hasn’t been able to decide. So she glosses past that part for now.

“We made an agreement, a deal, and I had to stay to make sure the Emperor followed through with his part of the deal.”

Alphinaud makes a thoughtful noise. “The deal involved the Empire voluntarily liberating Doma, and you…?”

“My part of the agreement was that I would not go to Gyr Abania. That I would step no foot into the region and offer no aid to the Ala Mhigan resistance efforts against Garlemald.”

“Why would you do that?” Yda hisses with an amount of vitriol that surprises the Warrior. Papalymo makes a shushing motion at her.

“It is a curiosity, that you would so willingly exclude yourself from the pressing hostilities,” Y’shtola says. She taps her knuckles against her chin.

“So, she was clearly pressured into it,” Alisaie says. “But, what would the Empire stand to gain from such an arrangement?”

They all look at the Warrior, and she does her best not to fidget under their curious scrutiny. She thinks perhaps it might almost be easier simply to be up front with them and tell them that the Emperor of Garlemald had taken a fancy to her and was trying to win her affections. However, that would only raise another set of questions, and she’d rather not face that volley.

“Clearly,” Y’shtola pipes in after a moment. “The Emperor was hoping to gain the Warrior’s trust. To trick her into agreeing to join the Empire. The freeing of Doma was simply a gesture of goodwill.” The woman’s blind eyes flick in her direction. “There’s nothing amiss with her otherwise. Her aether is stable and she does appear to have been well kept.”

The Warrior blushes and huffs in mild annoyance. “I’m sitting right here.”

Y’shtola blinks and muffles a chuckle behind her hand. “Oh, yes. My apologies. I fear you’ve been gone so long that we’ve gotten used to speaking of you in your absence.”

She sighs. “It was only a month.”

“It’s been a long month,” Alisaie says. The others nod in scattered agreement.

Alphinaud speaks with forced levity. “Well, Warrior, if you aren’t going to be helping us with the increasingly pressing matters regarding Ala Mhigo, what do you intend on doing in the meanwhile?”

“Oh. I’d planned on returning to Ishgard,” she says. “That isn't terribly far from here if you need me for something outside of Gyr Abania, and I’d like the chance to catch up with people there.”

Yda gives a wicked giggle. “Ooh, I bet you have some catching up to do with the Lord Commander, eh?”

“Yda!” Papalymo hisses at her, and the woman sticks her tongue out at him.

“What? We all have needs, even the Warrior of Light!” Yda smirks. “Her needs just tend to have elf ears!”

Alisaie snickers. Alphinaud looks scandalized and blurts out: “Consulting!” They look back to him. “I mean, Warrior, will you at the least keep your linkpearl on you so that we might contact for any consulting regarding the current conflict?”

She wants to point out that they’ve never really used her for her thoughts before, but is happy enough to be back with them to just smile and nod. “Of course.”

“And perhaps you could compose a report for us, for the Alliance,” Alphinaud continues. “Since you may have a bit of downtime in the Holy See.”

“I’m sure the Ishgardians will find plenty of busy work to keep me occupied,” she says. “But, what sort of report?”

“On Garlemald.” He taps a thoughtful finger on his chin. “You were there a month, you must have certainly learned some things about the nation. Even something seemingly trivial might prove useful against them.”

“You were kept at the palace, yes?” Y’shtola drones pensively. “You might have noticed something that could be used against them should we or the Alliance ever need to make a more direct move on the Capital.”

The Warrior does her best to school her expression. Her friends do not need to know that she has spent almost the entirety of the last month stowed away in the Emperor’s quarters, and much of that time in various stages of undress. But, never really in any duress... How did she explain to them that she had not gone to Garlemald to gather intelligence, but to--to--why had she gone? To ease the suffering of a man who had just lost his best friend, and then what?

She nods through the tangle of her thoughts. “Yes, I can do that. I’m not sure how useful my observations might be, as I’m not of as keen an eye as some of you, but I can do that.” 

Later in the day, Alphinaud leads her to a storage room in the Rising Stones. It is here that the remainder of her gear--that which she had carelessly left behind on her sudden journey to Garlemald--has been safely stowed away. She thanks the young man, and he insists that it was important to the Scions to keep her weapons safe until she returned.

“We knew you would come back,” he says, arms folded behind his back as he watches her inspect her kit.

She smiles: “Of course you did. I had no reason to stay in Garlemald forever.”

“I know. We worried, though. I mean, since we went so long without word…” Alphinaud trails off.

“It’s in the past now, Alphinaud. ‘Tis better to worry about what lies ahead of us.”

“Indeed.” He frowns. She knows he’s thinking about the pending confrontation that awaits in Gyr Abania, and the fact that she has already bowed out of that fight.

The Warrior sights down the length of her lance. It is straight and true as she remembers, aside from a little nick in the wooden grain about halfway down the shaft. She frowns, sets it aside, picks up her staff. The bindings around the grip are worn smooth from handling, but this is as she expects.

“Something the matter?” Alphinaud wonders.

“Mm, no. Just checking everything out. If your grimoire was out of your care for a month, you would inspect it when you got it back, yes? Check the bindings, look for torn pages and the like… The integrity of your weapon is important. You don’t want it to fail you in battle.”

The young man blushes. “Ah, yes. That’s quite true.”

She takes the handle of her greatsword in both hands and hefts it with care. The heavy steel is balanced and unblemished, though it still carries an extra weight of its own. Her mind strays back to the Emperor’s weapons closet, and the massive gunblade that he keeps stored there. The Emperor would probably be able to handle the greatsword as easily as a butter knife.

The Warrior sighs and shakes her head. “Everything looks good. Just a few minor repairs that need to be made.” She looks over at Alphinaud. “Thank you for retrieving everything for me.”

“It wasn’t just me,” the Elezen says. “We all helped--some of your weapons were too heavy for your, ah, smaller allies to carry.”

She laughs. “Ah, I see. Of course, it would have to be a group effort.” She teases. “Did you manage the daggers, then?”

Alphinaud flusters and shakes his head. “No, no, I had the staves!”

She ruffles his hair and smiles. “Good. Thank you, Alphinaud.”

The Warrior of Light heads out the next morning. She takes her pack and a few of her weapons, and then teleports to Ishgard. She is pleased to find the city busy, people bustling about despite the lightly falling snow. There are clear signs of repair work being done: scaffolds covering the sides of buildings, debris stacked in orderly piles, and the rapport of hammers echoing in the morning air. One of the Temple Knights acknowledges her arrival at the aetheryte plaza, but she is otherwise left alone. The Warrior wonders where to head to first. Should she report in at the Congregation, or perhaps check in at Fortemps Manor?

She decides on the latter, as there is no way of knowing what business might currently be afoot with the Temple Knights. The Warrior makes her way to the Last Vigil, careful not to look up toward the Vault before taking the steps down to Fortemps Manor. She doesn’t need that unpleasant reminder right now. Perhaps never again, to be honest. The doorman greets her cheerfully and lets her into the manor. The steward greets her and takes her things, promising to have them stowed in the bedroom that had been assigned as hers many months before.

She goes to the parlor. Lord Edmont is there, as he always seems to be when she visits, standing in front of the fireplace. He is leaning lightly on his cane, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Lord Edmont?” she calls. The Elezen jerks slightly and looks away from the flames, a surprised smile appearing on his face.

“Ah, our dear Warrior,” he says, watching as she enters the room. “This is pleasantly unexpected. Last I heard from Sey Aymeric, you had gone missing.”

She shakes her head. “Not missing, just… out of the area. I’m back, now.”

“You’ll be staying, I hope?”

“Oh, yes, if you’ll have me. Your steward already took my things.”

Edmont nods. “Yes, of course. Can’t have you staying at the Forgotten Knight again.” His voice takes on a chiding tone. “I heard you got yourself into some mischief the last time you stayed there, young lady.”

The Warrior laughs. “Oh, well, you know. That’s what young lads and ladies do, isn’t it? Get themselves into mischief.”

The Count snorts lightly. “I’m going to pretend that I have no idea about that sort of thing.”

The Lord Commander wastes no time getting back in touch with the Warrior of Light after her return to Ishgard. So it is that on her second evening back in the Holy See, she attends dinner at Ser Aymeric’s mansion. She sits across from him at the table, and is treated to the usual lavish spread of food and wine. Aymeric is, as ever, eager for her company and her stories, and they make it through most of the main part of the meal simply on the back of her giving him the greater details of what happened when the Scions went in search of the Warring Triad.

She does not end the story before she stops telling it--she does not feel like going into detail in regards to the death of the legatus and her departure from the scene.

“How have things been here in the See?” the Warrior asks instead, diverting the conversation. “Things have seemed quiet enough since I returned, aside from the construction noises.”

“Oh. I, um.” Aymeric starts and stops, peering into his empty goblet. He has finished his third glass, and as per usual he has started to lose the edge to his decorum. “It’s been busy here, in Ishgard. Well, I mean. ‘Tis always busy. Different busy.”

“I could go for a cup of tea,” she says in a pointed tone. He blinks and nods. His pale blue eyes flick down to the empty glass, and then her face, and then back. He laughs softly.

“Oh, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? In my excitement I’ve forgotten to pace myself.” He summons the steward. “I’m useless if I’m too tipsy to function.”

The Warrior knows what he is referring to--she and the Lord Commander had engaged in a bit of physical pleasure now and then in the months before she had gone to Garlemald. He had a bad habit of getting nervous and calming his nerves with wine if no one stalled his progress. She thinks of one of their previous meetings.

“How is Ser Estinien, by the by? I don’t think I’ve seen him since my return.”

“Ah, he is unfortunately not in Ishgard right now. He’s off on some mission, doing a bit of scouting regarding Imperial troop movements near Gridania.”

“Helping the Alliance?”

Aymeric nods. “A pity though.” His black brows lift suggestively. “I could call on him whenever he returns to the See.”

She laughs softly and sips the last of her wine. “Now, now, Ser Aymeric, I told you that was a one time thing.”

“Yes, the second time.”

She huffs in amusement and shakes her head. “Alright, two times was enough.”

Aymeric’s eyes squint as he flashes a toothy smile. “I daresay you even managed to make our friend crack a smile.”

“He certainly wasn’t complaining, at least.”

The dinner plates are cleared away, and dessert is brought out. The Warrior eyes the plates and hopes that she still has room for the decadent looking tiramisu. The steward sets a mug of coffee down next to her plate before shuffling away. She picks up the mug to take a sip, but stops once the lip is nearly to her mouth. She inhales slowly. Something pinches in her stomach, and she sets the coffee down. She picks up the fork instead and sets to work eating.

Her action does not go unnoticed by her dining companion.

“Is aught amiss, my friend?” Aymeric peers over the edge of his teacup. “You usually take coffee with your dessert, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose I just fell out of the habit while in Garlemald.” The Warrior lifts the mug again to her face but again does not drink. The persisting smell of the roast sends a shiver down her spine that she hopes the Lord Commander does not see. She sets the coffee down once more. “I think I’ll just take the tea tonight.”

“Of course.” Aymeric beckons to the steward and looks back to her with a concerned frown. “Do you need to talk about it? What happened to you in Garlemald, I mean. I can understand if you do not. It must have been an unpleasant experience.”

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why what?”

“Why must it have been an unpleasant experience?” The Warrior quiets as a cup of tea is brought by the steward. She rests her hand over the coffee mug and does not let him remove it from the table. “I understand the concern for my well being, and I appreciate it. But, since my return everyone has acted as though I need to be coddled, as though I need time to recover from my ordeal.”

Aymeric looks confused by her words, and for a moment he looks to one of the empty wine glasses at the end of the table. “Do you not?”

She lifts her hands to gesture at herself. “Do I really look the worse for wear?”

He hesitates, eyes drifting down the front of her blouse before snapping upwards again. “Physically, yes, you look quite whole and hale. But troubles can linger in the mind, Warrior. Surely you are aware of that.” Aymeric takes a thoughtful sip of his tea. “And so, I would hope you would feel comfortable enough speaking to me about it.”

She sighs. “There is little to tell, Aymeric. I was no prisoner. The only thing I can say that I suffered from were periods of boredom.” And aching muscles, but the Lord Commander did not need to be privy to that information. “My quarters were clean and spacious, I was given books to read, food was delivered thrice a day… If anything, the experience was more like a peculiar and poorly timed recess from my duties than some kind of torture.” The Warrior picks up her tea and takes a drink.

“That is a comfort to hear, my friend. Though, it only makes sense that you should be well kept, if they were trying to curry your favor,” Aymeric says. His brow furrows in thought. “If you wouldn’t mind indulging me, how did you end up in Garlemald? The Scions were a bit obfuscating with their explanation of that part of events, and you stopped your story...”

That wasn’t really the Scions’ fault, she thinks. “It had not been my original intent to go to Garlemald. Initially, I had simply been offering consolation to a man who had just lost his best friend. Who would have begrudged me such a task? I’m the Warrior of Light. I help people.” She looks at the cooling mug of coffee. “It’s just, in this case the person in need of succor was the Emperor of Garlemald.”

“A strange turn indeed. I know the Scions were nearly frantic with worry when you disappeared. Especially considering that you and the Empire are not exactly on the best of terms.”

She thinks: On paper we’re on rather fantastic terms, now. 

She says: “I suppose that is why I was kept inside and away from the public most of the time.” The Warrior smiles. “That or the cold.”

Aymeric smiles fondly at her and chuckles. “Well, being back here in Ishgard should be like a balmy trip to the beach for you.”

She picks up her tea cup. “Something like that, yes.”

The Lord Commander rests the tines of his fork on his lower lip and makes a pensive noise. “It is strange, though, to think of a man like the Emperor of Garlemald as being capable of having what you would refer to as a ‘best friend’. Or any kind of voluntary friend at all.”

She hides a frown behind the lip of her cup. “Are you familiar with Emperor Varis?”

“Never met the man, fortunately,” Aymeric says. “But I am versed enough in his military history to know that a man like that should be given a very, very wide berth.”

“I see.” She looks at her plate. “Is a man wicked, intrinsically, just because he is on the enemy’s side? If he was just doing his job, protecting his country, if not aggressively, does that inherently make him a bad person?” She glances across the table, at Aymeric. A frown has captured his lips.

“I suppose that in the eyes of Garlemald, the noble souls of the Temple Knights, myself included, are wicked men.”

The Warrior scoops a forkful of dessert into her mouth. She closes her eyes, trying to focus just on the food, but cannot. Her mind hitches back to Garlemald, to lying in the Emperor’s bed. Most nights, regardless of their physical intimacy, he would enfold her in his arms, idly stroking her hair while musing on matters of the day.

“The Emperor of Garlemald just cares about the security of his nation, his people,” she says. “The same as you care for Ishgard.”

The Lord Commander looks uncomfortable. “Perhaps you were in Garlemald too long, my friend.”

“Perhaps so.”

When she finishes eating dessert she excuses herself for the evening. Aymeric takes her hand in his.

“You could stay longer, if you would like.”

The Warrior looks at their hands. She knows what he’s offering, what he’s asking for--this is the same way he’s propositioned her during previous encounters.

“I--” She shakes her head. “I’m not really up for that tonight, Aymeric.”

“‘Tis no trouble,” he says, and readily releases his grip on her hand. “Next time, then.”

She smiles, silently relieved that he is gentleman enough to back down. “Perhaps.”

Days later, the sky in Coerthas is, for once, nearly cloudless. It is a rare afternoon of brightness and cheerful atmosphere, so the Warrior decides to go for a short ride on her chocobo. The big bird, of course, protests the prickly snowpack under his feet, but carries on dutifully. 

There is a light breeze up on the cliffs that overlook Ishgard. It stirs up a bit of the most recent powder around the weathered ruins and graves. She is glad for her coat, and keeps the black cover pulled tight against the chill. She dismounts from her bird and winds around the crumbling stones dedicated to men and women long since gone from the world, until she reaches the most recently laid stone.

Haurchefant’s grave is well tended. Someone has already been by today, last night’s snowfall cleared away and fresh flowers tucked into place in front of the headstone. The visitor was most likely Lord Francel, as she recalls Artoirel mentioning that the young Elezen makes a nearly daily trek out to his friend’s grave. She wonders at his dedication, if it should be heartwarming or a possible cause for concern.

The Warrior says nothing, arms crossed over her chest. She hasn’t visited her friend’s gravesite in several months, the last time being only a few weeks before her sudden departure to Garlemald. She says nothing, because she never knows what to say at someone’s grave. She isn’t even sure if there’s a point to it--she was taught that souls at peace went on to the Lifestream to rest after death. And Haurchefant had seemed peaceful enough in his last moments, if not in terrible pain.

She grimaces and squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to think about that, still can’t bear to think about that, even though it’s been several months now. She never talks about it to anyone--not his family, not Aymeric, not Varis--

The chocobo, bored, sings to itself while it toes at the snow in search of interest.

She thinks of Varis, of his unexpected kindness. The Warrior knows it is silly to think of a man not being rude when holding her captive as ‘kindness’, but that is what it had registered as in her weary mind, and that is what it remains thought of as.

I never got to see where Regula was buried, she thinks. The simple thought startles her. Of course she hadn’t seen his gravesite. Why would she have? Varis never took her there, and she wasn’t sure the man ever visited it himself. Regula had only been gone a month, and as distraught over his death as Varis was, she wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Varis never went to pay his respects. Still, she would not have minded a chance to thank him herself.

She looks down at Haurchefant’s grave and thinks: There are those that yet live because of your sacrifice.

She murmurs: “There are those that will say the same to you, Warrior of Light.”

When she returns from visiting the knight’s grave, the Warrior feels restless and full of nervous energy. Checking with the Temple Knights provides no worthwhile work for her, so she goes down to the shooting range. It is a newer location in the city, set up for the Skysteel Manufactory’s machinists to practice their aim. Though she left most of her weaponry back at the Rising Stones, the Warrior has kept her gunblade with her while traveling to Ishgard. There is a bit of a comfort to the thing, but also she worries that if she leaves it alone someone might try to confiscate the weapon. She cannot allow that.

The Warrior stands alone down at the range and loads the gunblade. She had been relieved to find that the Manufactory had ammunition compatible with her weapon--most likely due to some technology borrowing on the Manufactory’s part. She isn’t sure where she would find the bullets otherwise, short of getting someone to scavenge them from the Garleans.

She lifts her weapon and sights down the blade. Varis had only once ever had time to explain aiming and things like that before she had left, and even then she had never fired the weapon. She can still recall the feel of him, his chest pressed to her back, arms encircling hers as he gave instructions. Keep both eyes open, sight down the blade, keep a firm grip, and mind the recoil...Truth be told it had been hard to focus, since the Emperor had been so physically close and breathing warm against her neck.

She fires a shot. It goes wide, but she corrects and the next two hit the target she is aiming at, though nowhere close to center.

“And here you told me you weren’t all interested in learning to use a firearm.”

She startles at the voice behind her, and clicks the safety into place while turning to look at them. It is Lord Stephanivien, from the Skysteel Manufactory. She smiles sheepishly at him as he approaches.

“I still don’t, sorry.”

“Then what do we have here?” He holds out a hand, and the Warrior offers him the gunblade. The Elezen whistles softly as he looks over the weapon. “A gunblade, eh? Custom job, from the looks of it.” He pops open the chamber and inspects its workings. “Wow. I’d love to see the equipment used to make something this pretty.” Stephanivien squints inside the chamber before closing it. “There’s something etched in here, but I’m not sure what it says. It’s Garlean script, so maybe it’s a note from the manufacturer or something?”

“May I see?”

“Of course.” He holds out the gunblade and points to the lettering he was referring to. She has to squint to make out [PER TE LUX MEA]--and her Echo tells her it is a cobbling of modern and High Garlean.

_‘For you, My Light’_

The Warrior shakes her head and shrugs. “I’m not sure. Some kind of code, maybe?”

Stephanivien shrugs and carefully closes the chamber. “All the same, this must have cost you a fair amount of gil buying it on the back trade. Where’d you get it?”

“Garlemald,” she says. He blinks and looks at her, then laughs softly.

“That’s right, Artoirel told me that’s where you’d gone off to.” He gives her a cheeky grin. “See any interesting magitek while you were there?”

The Warrior chuckles. “I’m afraid nothing new. Unless you’re interested in fancy plumbing and heating, most of the technology I saw while in Garlemald wasn’t much different from what you might scavenge from a Castrum.”

“Ah, well. Maybe next time.” He gives the weapon another once-over before holding it out to her. “Here you are, Warrior. If you ever need any work done on her, you can always stop by the Manufactory.”

She smiles. “Thank you, Stephanivien.”

He nods, and casually gestures toward the reddish hue in the eastern sky. “One rule here in the city. They don’t permit firing at the range after sunset. Keeping the peace and all.”

“Ah, thank you for letting me know.”

Stephanivien waves and starts back up the stairs. “Let me know if you need any more ammo!”

The Warrior watches the departing Elezen, half hugging the gunblade to her chest.

She is back in Ishgard for a week when her menses start. She knew they were coming--she has kept an eye on the calendar. It doesn’t make them any easier, of course. The Warrior has already made a trip to the Crozier to ensure she is properly stocked on painkillers and other necessities. Still, the pain is dreadful, and she nearly swoons late on the first day. When she returns fully to her senses, she is puzzled to find the black linkpearl gripped in her hand. She has held it so tightly that the casing has cracked. 

She does not remember retrieving it from her pack.

The days in Ishgard blur together slightly. She blames it upon the strange sense of actually having things to do again. Every morning she stops by the Congregation, and Lucia always has a few things written down for her to look into. Mostly busywork, if anyone is being honest, things that any trained Temple Knight can do well enough. But the Knights are busy keeping Ishgard safe, and so it is easier to dispatch adventurers and a particular Warrior of Light to get the work done. She does not mind.

In the afternoon on one of these aimlessly occupied days, the Warrior rests in the parlor of the Fortemps manor, sitting on one of the blue couches by the fire with her feet tucked up underneath her thighs. She spent much of the morning and early afternoon trudging around the frozen snowpack, and is now enjoying a glass of brandy while warming her toes and waiting for the evening meal to be served. It is still a little strange to her, to keep warm by a crackling fire instead of the efficient, quiet hum of a ceruleum radiator.

She hears the doors creak open, followed by the delicate gait of an Elezen.

“Ah, Father said I could find you in here.”

The Warrior looks up at the new Count of House Fortemps, and smiles. “Ah, good afternoon Artoirel. You were looking for me?”

Artoirel shrugs and takes a seat on the couch opposite hers. “In a manner of speaking. You returned to Ishgard some days ago, but I hadn’t gotten a chance to see you.”

“You were in Gridania, right?”

He nods. “That’s right. Business practice, so to speak.” The young Count rests his elbow on the arm of the couch and leans on it, his blue eyes not leaving her. “I was, of course, glad to hear that you had been safely returned to us. Everyone was worried.”

She chuckles and takes a sip of her brandy. “Yes, that’s what I keep hearing. As though the Warrior of Light can’t take care of herself for a few weeks.”

“Well, you were trapped in enemy territory! That had to have at least been a little frightening.”

She considers, then shakes her head with a wry smile. “No, I was fine once I learned where the bathroom was.”

Artoirel studies her face, black brows lowering over his eyes. “So, who was the fellow?”

She blinks. “What was that?”

He waves the hand that his weight is not pressed upon. “Just thinking out loud. You’ve never been the sort to settle for less. Not since I’ve met you.”

The Warrior returns the glass to her lips. “Artie, we agreed that was just a one time thing.”

The Elezen looks away and rubs at his chin.

“I was not good enough for you, and apparently even the leader of the Holy See isn’t good enough for you, either…” His tone is suggestive as his voice trails off.

She sighs and kicks her feet out from under her. “Don’t be a complete imbecile, Artie. I did not go to fucking Garlemald in search of a man.”

Except she had, hadn’t she? Perhaps not in the way that Artoirel was referring to, but…

The count sits up and brushes a piece of imaginary lint from the lapel of his coat. “Of course you didn’t. That was a rude thing for me to say.”

“It was,” she agrees, and turns her gaze back to the fireplace.

Artoirel mumbles her name, followed by an apology. “Truth be told, I was surprised to hear that you had come back to Eorzea peaceably. I would have expected you to cut a bloody swath on your way west.”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t necessary,” she says with insincere levity. “I’m sure they were glad to be rid of me.” Artoirel chuckles.

She empties her glass and stares into it, watching the twists of the firelight through its curved surface. Yes, the young Count is right. Many of the higher-ups in Garlemald likely were glad to hear that the Warrior of Light had gone back to Eorzea. Not particularly because they cared about their leader’s mental or emotional well being, but because to try and kill her while she was under the charge of the Emperor probably wouldn’t get them any promotions. In Eorzea, though she still is technically pardoned, it would be easier to call her death an accident.

She closes her eyes and sighs. She cannot say what the rest of Garlemald thought, but she knows that the Emperor had not wanted her to leave. His words had been plain.

After another lapse of silence, Artoirel clears his throat. “You’re definitely thinking about a man.”

The Warrior twitches slightly, nearly having forgotten about him. “What?”

“I can tell.”

“It’s not your business.”

“No,” he concedes. “I suppose it is not. I’m still willing to listen, though.”

She considers, knowing the man to be good at keeping secrets. He certainly seems to have kept theirs. Still, it is better not to put that matter to chance.

“I don’t know.” She fidgets the glass between her fingers. “I just keep finding myself thinking about what… what happened there.”

Artoirel makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, you were stuck there in Garlemald for a month, and have only been back a week or so now, right? It will take you some time to recover from your experiences, for better or for worse.”

The Warrior manages not to flinch at his words, but has to turn her face away all the same. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Just give it time, Warrior.” He smiles. “Soon enough, you’ll forget about all of that and be back to chomping at the bit to take out some Imperials.”

The Warrior nods. “Just so.”

She isn’t sure she wants that to come true, though. She isn’t sure that she wants to stop thinking about Varis.

She has been back in Ishgard for a week and a half when she is called to the Rising Stones. With her she brings her carefully penned report on her observations of things in Garlemald. The Warrior suspects much of it will be a disappointment to those hoping to garner some secret knowledge of weakness in the capital. All the same, she sat each night before turning in and added more lines to the document. She is almost worried about turning it in to the Scions--what if they piece together some secret that she does not want known?

And what secret is that? she wonders after materializing in the center of town. She didn’t make any mention of the Emperor’s private quarters, or their location, or that the Emperor’s favorite color to decorate with was green, or that his bedsheets were the softest--

“Warrior!” 

She is brought out of her tumble of thoughts by Alisaie’s voice. The young Elezen is standing at the front door to the bar and waving cheerfully. The Warrior adjusts the strap of the small black leather satchel on her shoulder and waves back as she hurries over.

“How are you? How is Ishgard?” Alisaie grins and elbows her. “How is the Lord Commander?”

The Warrior blushes as she follows the young woman inside. “Ser Aymeric is very demanding when it comes to dinner dates. One would think he wasn’t busy running Ishgard.”

“I’m sure he cleared his evening schedule just for you, Warrior.” Alisaie pushes open the door to the Rising Stones and holds it for her. “Everyone is waiting for you! We just got in some new recon details from the Black Shroud. It seems there’s been some new activity coming from the Wall…”


	14. Chapter 14

The Warrior sits through the meeting. She pays attention, but cannot shake a sense of disconnect. Knowing what is going on is good, yes, but it is frustrating to know that she cannot do anything about what has begun to transpire. She sits and waits for the inevitable suggestion from Alphinaud--the Warrior of Light will not be breaking her agreement with the Emperor if she fights the Empire on the Eorzean side of the wall. This is true, but--

She thinks of Varis’ earlier warning of what would happen to her should she break the terms of her pardon. A swift death if she is lucky. Likely captured and dragged to the feet of the bloodthirsty prince if she is not.

“So we must prepare for the worst,” Alphinaud says.

“Must we?” The words leave her mouth before she’s fully thought them. The Scions all look at her.

“What was that, Warrior?” Thancred asks.

“Why must we automatically assume the worst from the Garlean troops?”

“You’ve killed enough of them to know the answer to that,” he says.”They’re naught but a pack of bloodthirsty dogs.”

She thinks of what she saw in Garlemald, and during her journeys in between. “That is not so. Perhaps it seems so, in the midst of battle, but…” The Warrior feels their eyes on her, and struggles to find her voice. “Those ‘dogs’ are not mindless. They may be reckless at times, but they are well trained and well tended to by their superiors. They are dangerous because they--the ones who were not conscripted from outside sources, but the sons and daughters of their homeland--they are loyal. And the most dangerous of hounds are the ones who will lay down their lives for their master without hesitation. The ones that believe that by following their commanders’ orders they are protecting their homes and their families.”

The Scions consider her words.

“All the same,” Alphinaud says. “We must prepare for the worst. ‘Tis a safer course of action.”

“Of course,” she murmurs.

She hears Yda mutter darkly: “It’d be better to just get rid of all of ‘em. Payback for all the harm they’ve caused.”

“As cathartic as you might find it, Yda, we cannot stoop to the level of the Garleans.” Alphinaud shakes his head. “We mustn’t be like that.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t lost--” Yda stops as Papalymo touches a little hand to her arm and shakes his head. She gives a disgruntled huff and looks away.

Y’shtola looks at the Warrior from her seat. “Was there something you wanted to add, friend? You look as though something still bothers your heart.”

“I--” She looks over at Yda, who has settled on brooding behind her mask. “I’m not sure it is my place to say.”

“You have as much a right to speak among us as anyone else,” Thancred says. “Go ahead.”

The Warrior carefully considers her words, well aware of the varying tensions in the room. She does not want to upset her friends, and yet she also feels that she cannot have certain things remain left unsaid.

“It is unfair and inaccurate to say that all men in Garlemald are wicked, and that all of Eorzea are ‘good’. Surely we have not forgotten all the trouble that was gone through to free Ishgard from the shackles of its war. It still struggles, to this day, and there are those who would yet strike Ser Aymeric down for daring to lead a cause that makes life a bit more difficult for them.”

Alphinaud hums thoughtfully. “Are you comparing Emperor Varis to Ser Aymeric, Warrior?”

She looks at him, surprised that the young man would make the leap that quickly. “In some manner of speaking, yes.”

“Are you saying you think the Emperor of Garlemald to be a good man?” He does not mask the skepticism in his voice.

She takes a breath. “I think--I think ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are poor words to judge a man by. No one is that cut and dry. We all have our little wicked tendencies, as much as we can have a little love in our hearts. We sit here and speak of war in Gyr Abania, to lump all the fault on the Empire, but it can be so damnably simple to ignore that we all have someone’s blood on our hands. That Ala Mhigo does not have a bloodless history.” The Warrior reaches out and gently touches Alphinaud’s shoulder. “I think Varis zos Galvus is a man who is wholly capable of doing whatever he thinks is the right thing. He is a man of great might, but he is--” Her breath hitches at her own words.

“Warrior?” The Scions look at her with concern.

She whispers: “Emperor Varis is a man capable of greater kindness than he knows.” She stands and steps away from Alphinaud and then turns her back on her fellows. Her eyes sting, and for once she cannot put her hero’s mask into place. The Warrior presses her face into her hands.

“Are you crying?” The tentative question comes from Yda. The Warrior shakes her head.

“I think she’s trying not to,” Alisaie says.

She rubs at her eyes. “I’m sorry. Excuse me for a few moments.” 

The Warrior leaves the Rising Stones, and goes all the way out of town through the western gate. She rounds the giant toads and climbs the stony crystal-dotted crags that overlook the landscape. When she sits, it is facing the direction of Castrum Centri. She watches a few soldiers patrol outside the gates, two stopping to drive off a curious mudpuppy, and thinks of how not long ago she would have been more inclined to be wondering how to ruin the guards’ day rather than just observing them. She thinks: they are no different from the guards lining the hallways of the palace in Garlemald. Just men and women doing their jobs. She was, is no different, just a woman doing her duty.

What will Varis think of her, should she break the terms of her pardon and survive? She knows eventually her hand will be forced, and she will have to fight the Imperials once more. She and the Emperor will again be enemies.

It makes her heart hurt to consider this future.

“Ah, there you are,” says a voice from below. “Luckily for us, you have a very distinct aetheric signature, Warrior.”

She says nothing as Y’shtola makes her way up to where the Warrior is perched. For a few minutes Y'shtola stands in silence, though the Warrior can feel her blind gaze searching along the backside of her head.

Finally, Y’shtola speaks, her tone careful. “The Emperor. He… did something to you, didn’t he? The Warrior of Light we know would not speak so kindly of Garlemald.”

The Warrior cannot help but bristle at her suggestion. “He did not hurt me. He was a complete gentleman.”

The Miqo’te chuckles softly. “I did not say that he hurt you. We would have long ago received word of the Warrior of Light having attacked the Emperor had he tried to hurt you.”

She blushes, but does not remove her gaze from the castrum below.

Y’shtola’s tone is cautious again. “You want to go back. Back to Garlemald. Why?”

The Warrior considers her friend’s words, and presses her thumbs together. “No. Not back to Garlemald in particular.”

She can almost hear Y’shtola thinking. “Warrior… Why did you agree not to intervene with the affairs of Gyr Abania? Doma’s freedom seems a noble cause, yes, but it is not like you to remove yourself from a battle before it has begun.”

She closes her eyes and thinks back to a month before. She had only been in Garlemald a few days. It had been the night after the Legatus’ funeral--the first time Varis had kissed her. He had pulled her into his arms and pleaded for her not to go to Gyr Abania. Not to throw herself upon his son’s sword.

“I--Emperor Varis fears that if I go to Gyr Abania, if I help the rebellion, then I will be slain by Prince Zenos.”

Y’shtola makes a noise of surprise. “Why would he care?”

A fair question. She had wondered that herself when he had first asked. Had doubted him and his actions for it. But after a month she is no longer blind to the reason why. Varis’ words and actions have been completely unambiguous. She has simply not wanted to admit to the feelings they were connected to, or that there might have been some echo of them stirring in her own heart.

She hesitates, because she is unsure how Y’shtola will respond to the truth. She picks at the edge of her tunic.

“Truth be told…”

Y’shtola moves closer. “It is alright, Warrior. You can tell me--I will not share your words if you do not permit me to.”

The Warrior glances up at the Miqo’te. “I--” She looks down at the Castrum again. “I cannot claim to understand the workings of a man’s heart. But I know, with a certainty, that the Emperor of Garlemald is smitten with me.”

A muted noise of surprise drifts down to where she is seated. “With you, or your power?”

“With me.”

“I--forgive me, but that does not seem possible.”

“Do you know the man?” she whispers. Aside from little Alphinaud, no one she has spoken to since her return has ever met with the Emperor, and that tense conversation was scarcely enough to get to know someone.

Y’shtola shakes her head. “No, but I know of him. I know the tales of his ruthlessness on the battlefield, though I daresay they pale in comparison to stories of his grandsire.”

“Ser Aymeric said something similar.” The Warrior sighs. “As though it is not possible to rule and still care for someone.”

Y’shtola quiets with her thoughts. The Warrior continues to watch the Castrum. As the sky darkens overhead she sees the lights on the Castrum walls spring to life, and the dark fortress gleams with red and blue and traces the sky with violet.

“When I was in Garlemald--” She stops, gathers her thoughts, still a bit wary of sharing this privacy with her friend. “I stayed at the palace. With the Emperor. He kept me as his companion.”

For a moment Y'shtola remains silent. Then she softly utters: “Oh.” Another moment of thought, and then: “Oh. He--did he--” When the Warrior looks up at her friend, she finds the Miqo’te’s ears slightly askew and a blush on her cheeks. “Did he force himself on you?”

“No. I consented to his attention.”

Y’shtola has her knuckles pressed to her cheek as she thinks. “Your defensive comments for the Imperials… Did you feel something for him in return?”

The Warrior looks away. “I don’t know. With distance, I think I might have.”

“Then, why would you come back to Eorzea?”

Why indeed, she wonders. “Because I am needed here.”

Y’shtola’s ears droop. “We want you to be happy, Warrior. Even be it with thy enemy.”

Her eyes find the silhouettes of the Imperial soldiers. “Varis is not my enemy. He pardoned me.”

“ _What_?” Her reaction is as sharp as expected. 

“When I first arrived there, Varis invited me to stay in his quarters. I protested, of course. Said he shouldn’t be keeping with his nation’s greatest enemy. So he offered me a full pardon. No unreasonable strings, just a pardon. But I doubted his sincerity and demanded he prove himself. So we set a deal: I don’t go into Gyr Abania, and he frees Doma.”

“And that took a month…”

She nods. “He kept to his word, though. And I was pardoned in full by Varis, despite everything I’ve done against the Empire. All wiped clean, as long as I keep to the terms of the pardon.”

Y’shtola makes a noise of understanding. “That is why you went to Ishgard, then. To try and avoid being dragged into the confrontation between Gyr Abania and Garlemald.” She sighs. “Oh, my dear friend. It is a sweet notion, but you know that eventually you will have to fight the Empire again. It is unavoidable. They ready for war.”

The Warrior just frowns. She knows that she is weak to the demands of her friends. Her desire to help is too great. But--

“I--It is not unavoidable if I do not remain here. If I go back to Garlemald.”

“Such is a dangerous prospect,” Y’shtola says. “The Scions continue to try and maintain their neutrality amongst the nations of the Alliance, but if you go to Garlemald and consort with their enemy…”

“I will fix it, “ the Warrior murmurs.

Her friend chuckles: “That is a noble aspiration, Warrior.”

“Do you think it beyond me?”

Y’shtola hums in thought. “I suppose were it possible for anyone to make peace between Eorzea and Garlemald, you might be the one to accomplish the task.”

That is almost a ringing endorsement, the Warrior thinks. She stares down at Castrum Centri. The evening wind draws the chattering voices of the guards to where she and Y’shtola stand. The melodic sounds of Garlean mixed with a bit of broken Common and laughter. Just regular people talking about the results of a card game. Just people--Eorzeans, Ala Mhigans, Garleans--that was all any of them were…

“Tell me,” Y’shtola says after a few minutes. “You claim to have grown warm to Emperor Varis.”

The Warrior starts to protest, heat on her cheeks, but stops. She shifts her gaze up to the Miqo’te in the dim light. “In so many words.”

“Then…” The hint of accusation drops from her tone. “What is he like? As a man? You asked me if I knew, and plainly I do not know him as a man, just a soldier. What sort of man is this Varis zos Galvus, that you would consider leaving us to be with him?”

“Oh.” Now she knows that her cheeks are red, and she hopes that her friend’s aether-vision doesn’t pick up on that fact too strongly. “Well, he--I’m sure he acts differently around me than he might a formal representative from the Alliance. He’s more comfortable around me.” She closes her eyes and smiles, tucking her chin against her knees in hopes that Y’shtola doesn’t see. “He is a surprisingly gentle man. A gentleman, even, you might say.”

“He was never violent toward you?”

She thinks of their sparring matches in the training center. “No.” She sighs. “To look at the man, you would not think it, but he is a very lonely person. Perhaps that made him more prone of falling to me in attachment.”

“Were you lonely as well?” Y’shtola asks, half teasing.

The Warrior considers the question. “Perhaps I was. The Scions are my friends, my family, but… It isn’t the same feeling.”

Her friend tutts softly. “Well, it is a known thing that it can be ‘lonely at the top’. For kings and emperors and the like, it can be very difficult to find trustworthy advisors and associates. Everyone in court is in it for themselves. Just look at the workings of Ul’dah.”

The Warrior frowns. “Yes, that all is true. But Varis--the Emperor--” She sighs. “His family mostly fled the palace, fled the capital city entirely, upon the death of Emperor Solus. They were desperate to free themselves from that madness. All that was left behind was his son, who I have come to understand is a terror.”

“The reports from Ala Mhigo indicate as much, yes,” Y’shtola says.

“And so the Emperor sent his son away as viceroy of Doma and Ala Mhigo, to keep him occupied. The only other person Varis had that he counted as a trustworthy ally--his dearest friend, in fact--was Regula van Hydrus.”

The Miqo’te taps her knuckles to her chin and hums thoughtfully. “The Legatus slain by Zurvan?”

“The same, yes.”

“And then you disappeared after the fight with Zurvan…” Y’shtola blinks, and her tail flicks again. “You went to offer to succor to your enemy?”

“He asked for me, but yes. I did.”

“I--” She sounds flustered. “You failed to tell us that you went to Garlemald voluntarily.”

“No one really asked why I went,” the Warrior admits. “I suppose that everyone assumed the Legatus’ men grabbed me. As though they could.”

“Why did Emperor Varis ask for you? You wert strangers to each other.”

“We had met once before, when I was first captured. And he knew of my reputation. Perhaps that was enough.” She looks away. Aside from bristling when the question was related to the late Emperor, Varis had been gentle with her. He had not forced himself on her, even when it became obvious that he was burning with desire for the greatest of the savages.

Y’shtola’s musings fortunately interrupted the Warrior’s internal revisit to that night. 

“That the Emperor of Garlemald would ask for the Warrior of Light… A most curious circumstance, to be certain. And that you willingly went, without telling us where you were going or why bespeaks of a strange mental state on your part.” She looks down at the Warrior. “Are you sure that nothing was done to you during your brief incarceration in the Sea of Clouds?”

The Warrior has to close her eyes again, and hopes that she does not further blush at the flash of memory. What would she be able to say? ‘Oh, yes, the Emperor and I had sex and it was good and I liked it and I think maybe I liked him a little too over breakfast because he looks charming in reading glasses?’ No, she couldn’t say such things. Even thinking them felt a bit like madness.

“I don’t know what came over me,” she murmurs. She shakes her head. “But, no, I don’t recall anything being done to me. No experiments or the like. I was held and questioned, and in the morning I was given breakfast and released.”

“And several moons passed between your first and second interaction with the Emperor, so I doubt there was any sort of poison in the food that might have affected your judgment or behavior.” Y’shtola shrugs. “It is something I will have to put some thought to at a later time. Right now I’d like to ask you about Gyr Abania--”

“I cannot go to Gyr Abania.”

“As you said, but you know we need your blade, Warrior.”

“What about what I need?” the Warrior whispers. Y’shtola makes an uncertain noise.

“If you return to Garlemald, do you really think they will let you return again? Or that you will want to return?”

“And if I don’t? I can find a way to help our cause from Garlemald. Varis will at least listen to what I have to say, even if he does not always make actions based on my input.”

“Do you really think he is that fond of you? To treat you as an advisor?”

She swallows. “I do. I just--” The Warrior gets to her feet. She can feel Y’shtola’s curious gaze on her. The Warrior feels something bubbling inside her, almost like a panic but more a disquieted fire in her synapses. She feels dreadfully certain that if she stays behind and aids the Scions, something bad will happen to her, happen to Varis. “I don’t want Eorzea and Garlemald to fight any more.”

“You--what?”

Words burst forth from her. “I don’t want this war! We have better things to worry about fighting. The primals and the Ascians and--” She turns and starts making her way down the rocky crag, words still tumbling from her lips in a hurried flow. “I have to talk to Varis--he’ll listen to me because he fancies me and he needs me and listens to me even when I’m talking about trivial things and--I-I’ve made a mistake--I have to go back!”

Y’shtola calls after her: “Have you gone mad?!”

The Warrior of Light pauses and looks back to her friend. She smiles so hard that it hurts her cheeks. “Oh, yes, most definitely!”

The Warrior returns to Revenant’s Toll and the meeting she had abandoned. Y’shtola catches up with her when she enters the room, and the Scions are distracted from the Warrior’s return by the sight of their usually calm compatriot out of breath from running.

“Y'shtola? What’s wrong?” Yda is quickly at the Miqo’te’s side, leading her to a chair.

“The Warrior of Light is--is--” Y’shtola grabs the mug from in front of her and takes a gulp of its contents. She coughs. “She is experiencing some emotional distress.”

“I must go back to Garlemald,” the Warrior says. There is a confused moment of silence before speaking begins again.

“Did you hit your head?”

“Warrior, we trust you, but you know you aren’t cut out for diplomacy--”

“But Warrior,” Yda protests. “You know that the people of Garlemald want you dead! You are their sworn enemy!”

“I have sworn no such oath,” the Warrior says, shaking her head. “And I have come to understand, through my travels and trials over the years, that I am just as misliked here in Eorzea as I am in Garlemald. It just depends on who you ask.” She thinks of Varis and his pardon, of the stares of his royal guard that bore no malice, just bored curiosity. “Certainly, yes, there are those in the Empire who would celebrate my defeat. But there are those in Eorzea as well. It’s something I’ve always had to deal with. For those that consider me a hero, there are still those who sit in their shadows and grumble and plot. It is just the way of mankind.”

Yda frowns and looks down at Papalymo. “Well? You say something!” But the Lalafell just shakes his head.

“I believe our friend has already made her decision,” he says. “However much we might disagree with her choice.”

“I am going back,” the Warrior says, feeling more certain of her decision. “I just--I just wanted to tell you all that I plan on going this time. So you don’t worry for not knowing.”

“You’re leaving us, when we need you the most?” Alisaie asks, something timid in her voice.

She shakes her head. “You all will never stop needing me. There will always be another primal, another war, another something that I must take care of for the good of Eorzea.”

“And you’re just walking away from that? From us?”

The Warrior of Light smiles and touches the young woman’s cheek. “No. I promise you, whatever I do in Garlemald, I will do so with the best of Eorzea’s needs in mind.”

“And what business do you have in Garlemald that is suddenly so pressing for you to attend to?” Thancred asks.

She looks at him levelly. “I must tell Varis that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left him.”

The Scions are all silent now.

“So, you really mean to go,” Alisaie says.

“I do, yes.” The Warrior nods. “And, I’m afraid I don’t know when I’ll be able to return. It might be a while.”

“Please, at least promise us to stay in better communication,” Alphinaud says. He looks thoughtful. “When this business in Ala Mhigo ends, we will have to see if there is some neutral ground where we might meet. That is--I mean, if you intend on staying in Garlemald more indefinitely.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Alphinaud. You’re a smart young man.”

He looks up at her and makes a fretful noise. “There are times where I wish I was not quite so clever.”

Once her decision to leave is made, the Warrior does not tarry. It was haste that brought her here, it is haste that will return her to Garlemald. She knows that if she does what some of the Scions suggest--stop and think about it, give it a few days--they will find a succession of reasons to keep her busy and unable to leave. So she teleports back to Ishgard and gathers her things at House Fortemps. She hugs Count Edmont goodbye and kisses his cheek, asks him to see to her chocobo, and leaves him with a message for Ser Aymeric.

‘Sorry, I won’t be able to make it to dinner for the foreseeable future.’

Darkness has fully settled in over Mor Dhona when she returns. Some of the Scions have made themselves scarce, but the twins are still patiently waiting for her. They promise to keep her weaponry safe in storage, as she has decided only to take her gunblade back with her to Garlemald. Once those who wish to have said their farewells to the Warrior of Light, she heads out into the night. The twins follow her through the western gate, dutiful little escorts until the glowing lights of the Castrum come into closer view.

“Thank you Alphinaud, Alisaie, but I think here is where we must part.” She stoops and hugs each of the twins in turn.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Alisaie asks, casting an uneasy look at the Castrum. “What if they shoot you on sight?”

The Warrior smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I’m fairly certain that won’t happen.”

After another pair of hugs she waves the twins back up the slope to Revenant’s Toll. The Warrior proceeds toward the main gate of the Castrum, and only stops when a searchlight focuses on her.

“Halt!” Several Garlean soldiers approach. They do not surround her, and only flank her front. Behind them appears a centurion, his gunblade drawn. 

The Warrior is well aware of the half dozen weapons pointed at her face. She does not make a move, aside from looking over her shoulder to be certain that the twins have gone off a safe distance.

“Identify yourself!” the centurion barks. She knows this is likely just for show. Even long before her first trip beyond the boundaries of Garlemald, the Warrior of Light was already a known figure and source of fear for the Empire. After spending a month in Imperial territory, she is quite certain that her image has been recorded and more thoroughly distributed. And considering how rampant gossip was amongst bored troops, they most likely would know that she had spent much of that month under Varis’ care. They would have gossiped about that, too…

The Warrior hopes she is not blushing.

The centurion shifts his weight to call again, but she slides the cermet card Varis gave her upon her departure into her palm as she raises her hands in a gesture of surrender. The insignia printed on the back of the card gleams in the searchlight, and the soldiers all halt. The centurion hesitates before shouldering his gunblade.

“Just stay where you are, um, ma’am.” When the Warrior nods, he moves closer and holds out his right hand. “The card, if you would.”

She hands the officer the card and watches, curious, as he turns it over to the side covered in code. He pulls what looks like a black and gold tomestone from his belt and tucks the card into its underside. After a moment the device chirrups and the screen lights up with text, but she can not see any of its contents from where she stands. The centurion murmurs as he reads the screen, then jerks in surprise.

“Bloody hells, what kind of override code is that?” The helmeted head jerks to look at the Warrior, and then back to the screen. She hears him huff softly in frustration. “That’s so far beyond my pay grade I can’t even argue with it.” He clears his throat and looks at her again. “Warrior of Light, then?”

“That’s right. I am called the Warrior of Light.” She adds her first name, and the centurion makes a thoughtful noise.

“Indeed, as you say.” He retrieves the card and hands it back to her, before saluting so sharply that the sound of his boot heels tapping together is audible. The centurion gestures for the other soldiers to stand down. “How can we be of service for you today, Lady Warrior?”

She looks at the card for a moment, wondering what message it holds. Then she puts it back into her pocket with her linkpearls. “I need transportation back to Garlemald. To the docks at the palace. And perhaps alert the Emperor of my arrival.”

The centurion looks at his device again before returning it to his hip. “Yes, ma’am. We have been pre-authorized to do so. If you can give us a quarter-bell, we can have you on your way.”

The Warrior tries to sleep during the flight back to Garlemald, but has trouble doing so. Initially it is due to a low key amount of nervousness, of what she comes to realize is excitement to be returning to Garlemald.

She thinks: By the Twelve, what are you doing? Running back to your enemy’s arms?

But as she watches the dark creep in through the viewport, she knows the truth. Varis zos Galvus is not her enemy. She does not know what to call him, not now, not yet, but ‘enemy’ is no longer a term that she can apply to the man. Their peoples may be at war, but she has no desire to fight the man. She does not know how to explain the feeling.

She just wants to see him.

The last of the Eorzean skyline disappears into the darkness as the transport hastens to the northeast. There is turbulence as they pass through what the pilot refers to as the ‘Western Wastes’ of Garlemald--malms and malms of snowy terrain that is too permanently frozen over to be inhabited or used for more than a barrier between Garlemald proper and Eorzea. The Warrior sits near the pilot, hand over the mouth of a cup of extremely strong Doman tea that the pilot offered to her when she bored of chatting with her crewmates. The pilot--a stoic looking Garlean woman--mutters as the vessel trembles at the thrashing winds.

“Sorry about that, ma’am,” the pilot says. “It’s always hit or miss taking this route, but the other route is encumbered by a blizzard tonight, so this is unfortunately the easier course.”

“I’m sorry to be such trouble,” the Warrior says.

The pilot scoffs. “Oh, shut up and drink your damned tea. You’re no trouble.”

The Warrior looks at the soldier at the next console, but he is fiddling with a device and ignoring them. The man seated opposite the pilot has somehow dozed off. “Do you run this route a lot?”

“Several times a week for the last decade,” the pilot says with a smile. “Only crashed a few times.”

“Oh dear.”

She waves a hand and picks up a covered mug from the console. “Eh, we survived, it was fine. Chance you take with the Wastes.” After taking a gulp of tea, the pilot continues. “Usually we’re just ferrying soldiers to and from various outposts. Maybe the occasional legatus or the like being sent to a new deployment. Can’t remember the last time we shipped someone interesting like you, though.”

The Warrior feels a blush creep along her neck. “Me? What do you mean?”

The pilot waggles her dark blonde brows. “Oh you know. His Radiance’s new subject of interest.”

“I--” She busies herself with taking a sip of tea. “That’s right, the Emperor mentioned that soldiers have nothing better to do with their spare time than participate in gossip and speculation.”

A chuckle comes from the pilot. “Well, he isn’t wrong. And he would know, he spent plenty of time as a bored soldier himself.”

“Fair enough.”

The pilot leans back in her seat and stifles a yawn. “So tell me, oh great and terrible Warrior of Light, why are you going back to Garlemald?”

The Warrior looks out at the darkness passing by the viewports. “Is it really so bad a place?”

The pilot considers, fingers drumming on the side of her mug. She shakes her head. “No. The cold will freeze your tits off, but you can always put more layers on. And there are rules and protections in place for everyone and everything, nice and orderly. Leaves more time to be bored and gossip.” She slurps her tea. “Mm, and you don’t have to worry about eikons popping up and destroying things.”

“Oh.” The Warrior quips: “Well, then I suppose I’ll have a hard time finding work.”

The pilot laughs.

She is offered a bed in one of the compartments in the back of the vessel, but once the distraction of conversation is gone, she is too nervous to sleep. What if Varis is angry? What if he turns her away, or does something worse? She does not believe that he will, but the hours with nothing to do but wait give her mind ample time to let the ‘what ifs’ roll about in her mind with the turbulence.

The Warrior has nearly dozed off when the vessel slows. She gets up and returns to the cabin. Looking out a viewport shows the sky still dark, but below the capital city has appeared, and the space below the transport vessel is a glimmering carpet of blue and gold lights that trace the outlines of buildings and the courses of streets. She hears the communications chatter of the pilot as the sprawling form of the palace slides into view.

She accepts her stowed gear from one of the crew, and then steps out into the cold night air. The Warrior scans the platform. She recognizes the uniform shapes of several guards, but her eyes initially pass over the towering form that stands among them. On the second look, she realizes she was expecting the Emperor to be in his armor. But no, Varis stands rigidly among the soldiers, the red and black imperial mantle draped over his large frame, the fluffy off-white trim of the collar brushing against his gaunt cheeks.

The Warrior calls: “Varis?”, even though she knows it is not proper decorum.

The Emperor does not wait. He clears the space between them in two long strides. His hands hesitate and don’t quite touch her, but she reaches for him and grabs two handfuls of the fluffy collar.

“You look a mess,” she whispers. The Emperor huffs softly and sinks into her grasp.

He murmurs: “Do I need to shave?”

She lifts her hands to his cheeks. “Oh, most definitely.”

The Emperor leans down, heedless of the eyes on them, and wraps his arms around her. She folds her arms over his shoulders, and he nearly lifts her off her feet as he hugs her. He doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t have to--she can feel the hammering of his heart against hers and the faint tremble in the muscles of his powerful arms. 

She whispers: “It’s alright.”

Varis does not let go of her hand the entire journey from the docks to his quarters. He says nothing, head dipped slightly downwards. She briefly thinks he is upset with her, but realizes when he sags slightly in the lift that the big man is falling asleep on his feet.

“Did my return wake you?” she asks. He shakes his head.

“Wasn’t asleep. Couldn’t sleep.” She thinks he sounds weary and a touch forlorn. She is disappointed in herself--it had not occurred to her that he would take their separation so poorly.

“Well, I scarcely got any rest on the return flight,” the Warrior says in a helpful tone. “Too much turbulence. I know the sun will be up soon, but I would like nothing more than to sleep for a few hours.” She looks up at him as the lift stops. “How about you, Your Radiance?”

He gives a little nod.

Just inside the door to his chambers, once it is closed and secured, the Emperor releases the fasteners on his mantle and lets it flutter to the floor. Underneath he wears only dark silken pajamas. He waits for her to set her pack and gunblade down near the door, then scoops her up in his arms and makes a direct course to his bedroom. She is given no opportunity to remove her travel clothes.

The bedcovers are dented but not pulled back, and he hastily tugs them open before setting her down on the soft sheets.

“Varis…” She looks up at him. His broad shoulders are slumped. He shakes his head.

“We can speak in the morning. For now, you should rest.”

The Warrior holds up a hand. “Stay with me, Varis.”

His descent to her side is immediate.


	15. Chapter 15

Sunlight is creeping around the edges of the heavy curtains by the time she wakes. The Warrior groans softly at the slight stiffness of her muscles as she tries to move, but cannot. The source of her immobility is still present, arms locked around her, and his face pressed between a pillow and her clothed shoulder.

Varis looks peaceful, she thinks. 

She remains in his arms for some time longer, until she hears a distant knock on the chamber doors. The Warrior manages to wiggle free and darts down the dark hallway. She picks up the discarded mantle from the floor, brushing off the plush black and red fabric before draping it over the back of the couch in the study. She quickly returns to the chamber door--there are the usual servants, come to deliver the mid-day meal. They seem happy to see her, offering polite smiles in place of their usual stoicism. She wonders how they might’ve known, but notices Varis’ bodyguards standing silently out in the corridor.

Before closing the door behind the servants, she hears one of the sisters say: “Welcome back, my Lady.”

The Warrior pauses, and replies: “He’s been sleeping.”

She closes the door and returns to the bedchamber. Varis has not moved, except to grab her pillow and draw it to his chest. She takes a moment to strip out of her travel clothes, down just to her boots and underthings. Curious, she goes over to the cabinet where Varis had given her space to store her clothing. Despite the passage of nearly two weeks, nothing has been touched in her absence. She takes the dressing robe off its hook and pulls it on before climbing back onto the bed. The Warrior kneels next to the slumbering Emperor.

She gently calls: “Varis.”

He grunts softly, and she can’t help but laugh. It is strange, to have missed something as simple as the Emperor’s morning grunts of protest.

Varis is quiet again for a moment, and then his body jolts and he sits up, eyes wide. He cries out her name and reaches for her. His big hands grasp at her shoulders and tug her close. His mouth still tastes of coffee and rolanberry jam. She settles her weight lightly against his, until he breaks the kiss with a gasp. Varis’ hands move from her shoulders, and his thumbs trace over her cheeks when his hands reach her face.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” she says. He stoops to kiss her again but stops and instead presses his forehead to hers.

“I thought I was dreaming last night,” the Emperor rumbles. There is a sheen to his eyes before he squeezes them shut. 

The Warrior gives a loose pale hair a light tug, and smiles at his grimace. “You’re awake now, Your Radiance.”

Varis whispers her name again before giving her another kiss. “You came back.” He shakes his head just enough to dislodge another stray lock of silvered blond hair. “Why?”

“A variety of reasons,” she says, fingers reaching for his hair. “Mostly because I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

His brows lift in surprise. “You missed me?”

She smiles. “Like a man in the desert misses the chill of winter.” Varis blinks at her dumbly. She laughs and presses her lips to his cheek. “It’s a saying in Ul’dah.”

“A-ah.” The Emperor’s cheeks pink. “I thought most of their colloquialisms were about money and whores.”

“They are,” she says with a wink. The Warrior looks at him, surveys the fresh shadows under his eyes and the slight tautness to his skin. “Now. It seems to me like you were not taking care of yourself in my absence, dear Emperor.”

Varis looks away. “I was ill.”

“So I see. Well, I’m here now to nurse you back to health.” She strokes her fingers along his soft hair. “If you will have me.”

The Emperor doesn’t quite look at her. “Are you going to leave again?”

“If duty calls me strongly enough, then I might. But if I’m going to freeze my bottom off running errands, I can do it just as well here as in Ishgard.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, swallows, and then opens his eyes to look at her. “Stay with me?”

“Is that a request or an order?”

Varis leans in. “It is a request from the man who went to pieces in your absence, because all the peace and contentment that you brought me disappeared with you.” His pointer fingers hook under her chin and lift her face to look at him more directly. “Because I went and fell for you, like some young fool in a storybook.”

“It’s okay, Varis. You can be my fool.”

The Emperor kisses her, gently, softly, like a man who has forgotten how, but is relearning. He releases his hold on her face and presses their brows together again.

“Your fool, then.”

After a great deal more kissing and nuzzling on the Emperor’s part, she eventually convinces Varis to get out of bed, wrapping him in his dark green dressing gown and leading him down the hall to the sitting room.

“I think we slept through breakfast,” she says.

“I don’t remember the last time I ate,” he says. “Perhaps yesterday at mid-day? Perhaps earlier.”

The Warrior sighs and shakes her head as she sits on the loveseat. Varis drops himself into his usual armchair adjacent to her position.

“Well then, I suppose you can have all the mashed popotoes today.” She smiles. “Just this once, though.”

The Emperor props an elbow on the arm of his chair and rests his cheek along his knuckles. She cannot resist the urge to reach out and touch him. The Warrior runs her fingers over the bumpy cord of a braid until they reach his forehead. There she traces the deep lines that cross his face, being mindful not to touch his third eye.

Varis leans into the touch, but murmurs: “Do you wish I were younger?”

Her fingers still. She has not put much thought into the difference in their ages. “What? Where did that question come from?”

He makes an uneasy noise in his throat.

“That’s just the lack of coffee talking.” She sits up to retrieve the Emperor’s mug and fills it. He works himself into an upright position and takes the mug, a frown lingering on his lips. She waits until he has taken several gulps of the brew before continuing. “Now, Varis, when, in the time since we’ve met, in that whole month we were in each other’s company for hours at a time, did I ever give you the impression that I cared about your age?”

“I don’t suppose you have.” He muses into the mug. “Or my title or standing or anything else for that matter.”

The Warrior snorts a laugh. “You already know my feelings about such things, Varis.” She gives him as pointed a look as she can manage while smiling at him. “Do you wish that I were older?”

“What? Why would I want that? Your age doesn’t--” Varis looks at her. “Ah. [ _Your point._ ]” He sighs. “I suppose I was just a touch envious, thinking of you running around among all those young, fresh faced little Elezen boys.”

She chuckles. “I’m fairly certain most of them were older than I, if that’s what your concern is. And I didn’t even-- Just don’t worry about them, Varis. Okay?” The Warrior thinks about the day that has just passed. “I chose you, not them.”

The Emperor chokes on a soft noise that sounds like her name, but doesn’t say anything more. He watches her silently as she looks through the covered dishes before filling a plate for him with his usual selections. She fixes a plate for herself from the leftovers, and settles back onto the loveseat.

“I had to come back,” she says. “I was never going to be able to smell coffee again without thinking of you.”

The Emperor pauses in shoveling popotoes into his mouth. He swallows. “Was that all it took?”

“Well, it... “ She wavers. “It reminded me of you. It didn’t matter whose company I was in, I kept thinking of you.”

Varis hums in thought, then asks: “So, how fares the young Lord Commander of Ishgard? I’m sure he demanded your attentions.”

The Warrior sighs. “Yes, Ser Aymeric invited me to dinner and drinks several times. He was just being polite. You know how politics work.”

“I doubt he was interested in just your political opinions.” Varis waves his fork in the air. “You and he have been…”

She cries out, flustered: “Varis zos Galvus! I just said--!”

He nearly drops his fork as his body jerks in surprise. Varis looks at her with wide eyes. Color creeps onto his gaunt cheeks.

“My Lady,” he whispers. She smiles at the affection in his voice.

“Yes, my Emperor?”

“I--I--” His blush darkens, and he clears his throat. “I’m afraid I cannot find the words to express how glad I am that you returned. To… give me a second chance.”

“Second?” The Warrior laughs. “You’re still on your first chance, Varis.”

She watches him eat while working through her own food. After clearing her mouth with a sip of tea she says: “Varis?”

“Mm?” The Emperor has worked through half of his mashed popotoes.

“I just wanted to apologize. I’m sorry I left. I really didn’t realize it would hurt you so badly. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just missed my friends.”

He pauses, resting the fork on the edge of his plate. His golden eyes fixate on her, and she cannot ignore the lingering melancholy there. “You’ve no reason to apologize to me, my dear. I sent you away.”

“You didn’t want to.”

“No, I did not. I thought I was doing what was best.” Varis grimaces at his own words. “I did not know how much I would be hurting myself by forcing you to leave.”

The Warrior reaches and touches his cheek, rubbing her thumb across the stubble there. “Would it have been better had I defied your command?”

“I don’t know.” He turns his face and kisses the pad of her thumb. “You wanted to go back to Eorzea.”

“I did. And I’m glad I went. It was good to see my friends and family. But as glad as we were to be reunited, they all just acted as though I was some returning prisoner. As though--” She stops and shakes her head. “That all doesn’t matter. I realized I did not want to move on from my experience here, that I did not want to forget about you. I did not want to become your enemy again.”

His eyes widen.

“And I had a flurry of other thoughts as well, political type things. But we can wait a few days before touching those subjects.” She runs her fingers over his hair, still soft but somewhat oily with neglect. “Clear your schedule for a few days and rest.”

Varis flashes a meek smile. “As my Lady wishes.”

They stare at each other. She feels a flutter in her breast that she had attempted to ignore before.

She leans in as close as she can manage. “Might I kiss you, Your Radiance?”

His eyes half close, and she hears him gasp softly. “You may.” He swallows. “You need never ask again. Just do it.”

She breathes against his lips. “Never?”

“I--” His reply fails and twists off in his throat. Varis’ eyes dart down to her lips and then back to meet her gaze. She smirks playfully at him.

“What if you are before your throne, having an important meeting with some dignitary or another? And I were to slink my way up the stairs uninvited, so that I might place my kiss upon your frowning lips?”

“You would have more tact than to do something like that.” He manages to murmur this while barely moving his lips. She smiles. “That being said, I believe that any dignitary worth their title would understand the interruption.”

The Warrior catches his lower lip between her own. She releases it at the hint of coffee and leans in to kiss him. It is but a momentary contact. He groans low in his throat and strains after her when she pulls away.

“Please--” He quiets when she presses a finger to his lips.

“Finish eating, that is more important right now. I am going to step out for a moment, and when you’re done eating, we can see about getting you cleaned up.”

Varis looks to the door of the sitting room. “Stepping out?”

“To say hello to your bodyguards. Don’t worry.”

He sighs softly. “Very well.”

She refills his coffee mug before slipping out of the room.

Julia and Annia are stationed outside of Varis’ quarters, as is their given duty. They do not move when the Warrior exits, but she can feel their gaze on the back of her robe when she takes a few steps away from the closed door. She looks down at her boots and crosses her arms before turning to face the guards.

“Julia. Annia. You may speak freely.” The Warrior clears her throat. “Please.”

For a moment the sisters are silent, but then Julia tilts her head to the side. “We are glad that you have returned. Surprised, but glad.”

“Was he really that badly off? I didn’t expect to find that he had taken my parting as poorly as he did.”

They are silent again. Annia looks in the direction of the door before her helmet pivots again in the Warrior’s direction.

“Keep our words in trust?”

“Of course.”

She hears a sigh rustle at the helm’s filter. “It is not our business to attempt to access his mental state over the last half moon. However, we can at least report our observations.”

Julia nods. “Though, it was a sad sight to watch him returning to his quarters in the evening.”

Annia clears her throat. “On the surface, Lord Varis has been behaving normally. His usual grimly strict self, attends all of his meetings and the like.”

“Has he been sleeping?”

“We have no way of knowing for certain. He slept enough to function, at the very least. But we know that he has not been eating as much as he normally does. He has taken to skipping breakfast entirely, and has only been eating a portion of his later meals.”

“I see.”

“He would have…” Annia trails off. “He would have gotten past this eventually. But his personal doctor would have likely had to become involved before that were the case.”

Julia says: “We had begun to consider some sort of mission to Eorzea, to locate you and make you come back.” She sounds serious.

“Oh, my!” The Warrior laughs softly. “I am glad it did not come to that.”

“I am joking. Mostly.”

“Well, thank you both for your diligent execution of your duties.”

They both salute her.

“Yes, ma’am. Welcome back.”

Annia opens the door for her, and she returns to the sitting room. There Varis has cleaned his plate, and is quietly munching on a pastry.

“Finish your gossip with the girls?” Varis says. The Warrior blushes.

“I--I was just concerned with your well being, Varis. I thought they might have better insight to how you have been behaving since I left.”

He picks up his coffee. “And?”

She considers what his guards said. “I think it would be better if we move past my time away. Focus on the here and now. I am here right now. With you.”

The Emperor murmurs her name. “I would have you no other place.”

She perches on the arm of his chair. “And, what will you do when you grow weary of my presence?”

“That is something I will concern myself with in the event that such a dreadful thing comes to pass,” he says. “In the meantime, I will be happy to have you with me.”

She smiles and stoops to press her forehead to his. “I make you happy?”

“Like nothing else ever has.” The Emperor leans into the contact. “There are those who would say that a man such as myself does not deserve any sort of peace, any sort of love in his heart. My grandsire was certainly one of those.” Varis inhales slowly. “But, you are here with me, my dear Warrior. So, surely they must all be wrong.”

She does not know what to say, and so she kisses him instead.

It takes far less coaxing on the Warrior’s part to convince the Emperor to take a bath than it did to initially get him out of bed. She knows that this is contributed to by the fact that Varis has been fed and cuddled and generally made to feel better about everything in his world. But, she knows it is also because Varis is a sane man who will not pass up the opportunity to see her naked.

The Warrior cannot entirely blame him.

Varis sits in the tub while it fills. She looks through his collection of oils and unguents, and can feel the weight of his gaze on her lower back. She selects one of the bottles of oil that she knows the Emperor uses on his hair, and returns to the tub. The Warrior turns off the flow of water and sits, guiding the man back until his head is resting on her knees.

“I missed this,” Varis murmurs as she works her fingers through his long hair. “I missed your touch.”

“I missed your hair,” she teases. He chuckles and closes his eyes.

They are quiet while she washes and oils his hair. When the task is complete, the bathing room smells faintly of roses.

“Now, for the rest of you.” The Warrior fumbles her fingers along the lip of the tub until she finds a washcloth. She dunks it into the still-warm water before scooting closer to the Emperor.

“You’re really out to spoil me today, aren’t you?” The joint of his right knee pops as he shifts his leg to allow for her scrubbing.

“I want to,” she says. “I want to take care of you.”

“Might I take care of you in return?” Varis asks, his tone bordering on playful.

“Perhaps, if you’re good.”

“That depends on who you ask.”

The Warrior kneels between his parted legs, watching the lazy smile on his face as she rubs his chest down with the wet cloth.

“That’s a handsome smile on your face,” she says. “What brings that about?”

“You,” the Emperor replies. “Thinking about you.”

“Oh?” She chuckles. “Well, I’m right here for you to enjoy.”

A heavy hand comes to rest over hers and stills the motion of the rag. She can feel his muscles flex as he shifts into a seated position. Varis looms over her, that lazy smile still lingering on his lips.

“Varis?”

He whispers her name once, twice, and on the third whisper he leans in close enough to kiss her.

Varis says: “I love you.”

She feels a fresh heat on her cheeks that is not from the bath. “Do you?”

He nuzzles at her cheek. “I do.” The hand covering hers squeezes ever so slightly. “And I was thinking… How lovely it will be, if you one day love me in return.”

“Is it really that simple?” Her heart pounds in her chest, and she wants him to kiss her until she can stop focusing on it.

“I believe so.”

“How will I know if I do?” she asks, voice a whisper. She feels a twinge of self-consciousness when she continues. “I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love before. How would I know if I loved someone?”

She feels his chest vibrate with a chuckle. “You just will. That’s how I know. I just do.”

The Warrior looks into his eyes. “When did you know, then, that you loved me?”

Now something haunts his expression, and Varis glances away. “Ah. About twenty seconds before I ordered you back to Eorzea.”

She touches his cheek, attempting to keep his gaze focused on her. “You sent me away, while thinking that?”

“I was afraid,” he whispers, face pressing firmly into her palm. “I’d never--I’ve never been able to keep anything good in my life. So it was I had to send you away, too.”

“Oh, Varis.” She leans in and kisses him. His lips tremble against hers. “I knew leaving you was a mistake. That’s why I came back.”

“Please,” he whispers into her mouth. “Stay with me, for as long as you can stand.”

She kisses him.


	16. Chapter 16

The second day after the Warrior’s return to Garlemald there is a blizzard. She spends most of the day in bed with the Emperor, warm and comfortable while the storm rages outside. Varis spends the majority of his time sleeping, and she in turn stays by his side because his dreams seem more peaceful when she is present. He wakes for his meals, including breakfast, and does not protest when she fusses over him. 

In the afternoon he reads some of the more urgent reports that were delivered with the mid-day meal. She plays with his hair, braiding it and unbraiding it, trying to get better at the fine crowning braids that he prefers worked into his hair. Varis twists little braids into her hair while he reads. His thick fingers work with an absentminded efficiency that she finds entrancing.

In the evening, after they have eaten dinner, she snuggles next to him on the couch in his study. They sip amber colored drinks while music plays on the radio. They don’t really talk, except for the Emperor telling her the names of songs that come up on the radio, and stray memories attached to the tunes. When she rubs at the scratchy stubble on his cheeks, he huffs and softly promises to shave in the morning.

They do not have sex--he is still too enervated--but the Emperor spends enough time with his hand between her thighs to make up for it.

The next morning dawns quiet and clear. The blizzard roared itself out sometime overnight, and left only mild structural damage and a fresh covering of snow in its wake. The Warrior dresses herself and heads, Annia in tow, to one of the palace exits. The snow out in the courtyard is up to her knees, but it is not a hard pack and explodes skyward when she kicks at it with her boot. The dark buildings glisten with their white coats, and to the Warrior it looks like an ink drawing. She thinks it is beautiful, and mentions as much to Annia.

“A fresh blanket of snow hides all the world’s blemishes,” the guard says in agreement.

When the Warrior gets cold she heads back inside. Breakfast is waiting in the sitting room, but she ignores this and goes in search of Varis. He is as he said he would be--standing in the bathing room and preparing to shave.

“The snow is up to my knee,” she reports, and grabs at his hand. The Emperor gives a small, involuntary gasp.

“Your fingers are frozen!” he says, tone chiding. Varis brings her fingertips to his lips and kisses them. “You should wear gloves.”

She smiles. “I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“I’ll get you some more.” He takes her hand and dips her fingers into the warm water that fills the sink. “That reminds me. I have another gift for you. I’d intended originally to give it to you last week, but… well.”

The Warrior looks up at him, curious. “Another gift? What for?”

“Because I can. You can consider it either a very late or very early nameday gift.” He releases his grip on her hand. “You do celebrate namedays in Eorzea, yes?”

She snorts a laugh. “Yes, Varis, we do.”

“Good. You can consider it for that, then. It goes with your gunblade.”

She wonders what sort of gift would go with a gunblade, but doesn’t ask. “I didn’t bring you any gifts. I don’t even really know what I could get you that you couldn’t just acquire with a wave of your hand at a servant.”

Varis glances at her before he begins to pull the razor across his skin. “You needn’t worry about getting me a gift. Except maybe for my nameday.”

“I don’t know when that is,” she admits glumly. He chuckles.

“You will learn. It’s a national holiday.”

She is surprised. “Your nameday is a holiday? That seems a bit vain.”

“It is,” Varis grunts. “That’s why my grandsire wrote it into law that the day the Emperor first graced the star should be celebrated by all the smallfolk.”

“I see.” 

“I can have your nameday made a holiday as well, if you’d like,” he teases. She blushes and shakes her head.

“That won’t be necessary.” She removes her hand from the sink and goes to retrieve a towel from the warmer.

“I might do it anyway.”

Later in the morning there is a loud knock at the chamber doors. The Warrior looks up from the book she is working through--her Echo isn’t too fond of the peculiar dialect of High Garlean it is written in--and looks over to where Varis sits at his desk. He glances up from the pile of papers in front of him and sets his inkpen down with a smile.

“Ah, that would be your gift.” He gets to his feet and waves a staying hand at her. “Just wait there, my dear.”

She is curious, but nods and waits as obediently as she can manage as Varis exits the room. The Warrior listens to the sound of the main door opening, and a soft murmur of conversation between the Emperor and what sounds like Annia and a man’s voice she does not recognize. She hears a bit of rattling in the hallway, but manages to reel in her curiosity and stay seated on the sofa.

Her patience is rewarded a few minutes later when the study door creaks open again. Varis holds out a big hand in her direction.

“It’s in the sitting room,” the Emperor says. He looks excited, she thinks, which only serves to pique her curiosity over the nature of the gift. She sets her troublesome tome aside and gets up, letting him clasp her hand in his and lead her across the hallway.

“Do I need to cover my eyes?”

“Oh, no. It is covered.” He hums a few bright notes as he guides her into the other room.

In the sitting room there is now a shape covered in dark linen standing upon the table where their dining platters are usually placed. For a moment she wonders if it is a statue, as it has the general bulk of a person and is a bit taller than she is. The Warrior stands back as Varis goes over to the covered form.

“I had this commissioned when my tailor came and took your measurements,” he says, brushing his fingertips over the linen. His cheeks pink and he falters. “Well, I--” Varis clears his throat. “I suppose you should just look and see for yourself.” With a careful tug he pulls the linen away and reveals what stands beneath.

It is a set of armor, the Warrior realizes after a moment.

At a passing glance, it is similar to the dark, nearly black armor that the royal guard wears. However, the majority of this armor is not black. Rather, it is a silvery gray that gleams like a polished pearl. There are the usual black accents and brassy trim, of course, and the sleeves and under-armor look as though they are the standard black carbonweave. Otherwise, the majority of the armor looks the same as she has seen on countless officers and legati over the years. 

It is the helmet that gives her pause. It is cast in the same pale gray as the rest of the armor, and has the same white molded faceplate she has seen on other women wearing similar armor. There are even the various contrivances at the bottom of the helmet that she does not yet know the purpose of, but unlike the helms of Julia and Annia, the shape of this helm is carefully balanced. The crest of the helmet is swept back and elegant, evoking the image of something akin to a dragon or bird of prey.

For a long moment she just studies the armor, considering what it means. Varis stands behind her, silent and waiting, though she can feel his gaze.

“Varis, it’s lovely, but…” She touches the mouthplate of the helm. “There are those in Eorzea who would say that you are trying to turn me into a Garlean with this sort of gift.” The Warrior half turns and looks up at him to gauge his response. For a moment Varis stares down at her hand. Then he blinks and inclines his chin to look at her directly.

“And, what would you say, my dear Warrior?”

“I don’t know. I just know what it looks like.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you are not obliged to wear it.”

“I--I can wear it! I would just have to not wear it in the presence of any Eorzean visitors,” she says. The Warrior moves her hand to touch at the armor itself. She has worn enough kit in her days to know well made armor when she sees it, and it is obvious to her that the craftsmanship that has gone into this gift is of the same superior level as that of her gunblade.

“I just… it would provide you with greater mobility, should you choose to wander the halls or leave the palace on your own. You’ll get saluted at, but the rank and file will think you another high ranking officer and leave you alone. It will also keep you physically comfortable, as our uniforms are designed to be adaptable to both warm and cold weather.”

The Warrior puzzles at this line of thought. “But, wearing this armor, won’t I stand out just as much as if I was in civilian clothes?”

“Perhaps, but you’re less likely to be hassled this way.”

She looks at the armor again. “Well, I… I suppose I should at least try it on before I dismiss it. You did go to the trouble of having it made for me, and someone clearly put a lot of work into its crafting.”

The Emperor smiles. “I must admit, I am curious to see how you look in it.” He holds out his hands. “I can help you put it on--show you how to so you can dress in it in the future, if you wish. It is designed to be able to be put on by a lone officer, if necessary.”

She winks at him. “Only if you help me out of it later.”

“Gladly.”

The Warrior has seen enough of Varis’ armor to not be entirely intimidated at the prospect of figuring out how to put on her gift, but she is glad for his help all the same. He removes the outer pieces from the stand and arranges them carefully on the couch. She strips down to her smallclothes, and marvels internally at how restrained the Emperor is as he explains the ordering of the black under armor pieces with scarcely a glance at her nearly nude form.

It takes some time, but eventually the Warrior is garbed in the entire set of armor, but for the helmet. Varis crosses his arms and views her with a thoughtful mien. The Warrior experimentally flexes her limbs.

Hugged by carbonweave, her muscles feel snug and secure. She cannot deny a strange feeling of aptitude bedecked in the armor--it is no wonder to her now that the Garlean higher-ups she had crossed paths with over the years walked with such confidence and swagger. The Warrior feels as though she could punch a primal in the snout and come out on top.

“What’s so funny?” Varis asks. “You look as though you’re about to laugh.”

“I--” She shifts her weight. “This was not the feeling I was expecting. No wonder your men are always spoiling for a fight. I would too if I were wearing this every day.” The Warrior throws a fist at the air in front of her. Varis coughs softly and when she looks up at him his cheeks are pink again.

“I hadn’t noticed that effect. Perhaps it is the supportive effects of the carbonweave.”

She gestures at the boots. “Heels, Though? Am I not tall enough for you, Varis?”

He coughs again. “They are standard on most issue.” His cheeks darken. “Besides, you don’t even come up to my shoulders.”

The Warrior lightly punches at his arm. He flinches and smiles. “So, points to your craftsman. They definitely did an impressive job. I expected it to be a bit heavier overall.” She raps her knuckles against the metal covering her chest.

Varis is plainly pleased. “Garlean craftsmanship at its finest. Nothing but the best for the Emperor’s beloved.”

Now her cheeks heat. “Did you phrase it like that when you put in the order?”

He clears his throat. “Of course not.” A warm hand presses to her cheek. “Did you want to try the helmet, too?”

“Not right now, no.”

“That is alright. I can explain the details to you later.”

“Good.” She raises herself on her boot toes. “Now, then, you said something about helping me out of this?”

She is scooped up into the Emperor’s strong arms, armor and all. He totes her down the hall to his bedroom before carefully setting her back on her feet in front of the bed. The Warrior knows how to undress herself, knows how to release the various hidden catches and buckles that hold the armor together, but she still quietly delights in Varis’ big hands moving with delicate precision over her body.

Whatever restraint he showed previously has faded by the time she is against down to just her smallclothes. His hands trace a line from her hips up to her ribcage, fingers fanning out and teasing at her breasts. She arches into his touch.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers. “I mean, um, I missed all of you.” The Warrior reaches for his face and tries to guide him downward. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

Varis leans into her touch. “I am.”

She kisses him, and he groans against her lips. She can feel his mass press against hers, and among it the hardness of his cock rubbing against her hip. She gasps into his mouth.

“I think we need a bath!”

A needy sound growls in his throat as he nods.

They divulge each other of their light clothing before making it to the bathing room. The Warrior slips into the empty tub, and the Emperor follows her like a ravenous animal. Lying on her back, she laughs breathlessly as Varis hooks his big hands under her knees and guides her legs apart. Then his hands slide down to her ass and lift her hips into the air. She feels his warm breath against her slit.

“Don’t worry, Your Radiance, no one else has been down there since--ah!!” She gasps as his tongue spears between her folds. Her fingers find purchase in his hair. “Oh, Varis!”

His tongue probes her deeply and curls against her inner walls. She shivers against the cold porcelain of the tub. For a few minutes there is only the sound of her gasping breaths, the wet noises coming from between her thighs, and a faint content hum from the Emperor himself.

It does not take long before she wants more of him. It has been two weeks, and now that she is back with him, she wants nothing other than to be filled by him once more.

“Please, Varis!” she moans, tugging lightly at his hair. “I need you!”

His golden eyes peer up at her over the slight curve of her belly. She shivers again at the fire lingering there.

“Please,” she says again. “Lay back.”

He drags his tongue teasingly along her clit before doing as she asks. His cock is already hard, rising erect and impatient from his hips. The head is slick and shiny with his pre-cum. His eyes do not leave her as she climbs over him and straddles one of his muscular thighs. Varis holds out a hand and she takes it, gripping him for balance as she bends over to press a kiss to the tip of his cock. He murmurs his approval as she licks at him. His pre is salty on her tongue, and she relishes the flavor because it tastes like him. She runs her tongue wetly down his length, delighting in the groan it draws from the mountain of a man.

She squirms, her body warm and wanting for him. She sits up and crawls higher, up to his midsection.

“Help me,” she says, tone all but commanding. Varis moves his hands down to his cock, holding the throbbing length in place as she parts her thighs to admit his entry. She looks down between her thighs and watches as the shiny tip lines up with her entrance. “Yes, there--ah!” She gasps as his hips jerk upwards, and the head parts her folds. She relaxes her legs and lowers herself onto him, biting back a blissful groan as he stretches and fills her.

A little sigh escapes her lips when she is fully seated on him. The Emperor is still a perfect fit in her, just as he was the first time months before.

“Ah, Varis…” Her body is hungry for him, and she rolls her hips against his.

He gasps out her name, hips twitching. The movement bumps the head of his cock against her inner depths, and she shivers again.

His head rolls back slightly against the porcelain, and Varis gasps out her name again and then: “I love you!”

The Warrior stares down at him, at his wide eyes and flushed cheeks. She manages a somewhat coy smile. “Then, are you going to make love to me, Varis?”

“Ah--” His blush darkens and he swallows. “If you will permit me.” The muscles of his core tighten and flex as he curls into a half seated position.

She closes the gap between them and kisses him. With a nip at his lower lip she says: “You may, my dear Emperor.”


	17. Chapter 17

When the Warrior awakens, she is welcomed to another day by the hard press of flesh against her hip. She squirms underneath the covers, fingers searching for purchase on the bare skin of his torso.

“Mm, Varis, I thought you said you didn’t have sex in the morning. Something about your schedule?”

He answers with a sleepy rumble, and his heavy hand reaches over her hip, grabbing her by the belly and pulling her closer.

“Ah--and you were going to resume your duties today, too, what a pity,” she says in a teasing tone. Her hair muffles his groan.

“No, I am going to stay in bed all day, and so are you,” he mumbles. His fingertips toy with the waistband of her sleeping shorts. She barely manages to hold back a laugh.

“That’s what you said yesterday, my dear Emperor.”

“And I kept fairly to my word.”

The Warrior wiggles under his touch until she is on her side, nearly facing him. “How about I help you with that, and then you can go and set a good example for the rest of the Empire. I’m sure the Senate has missed your smiling face.” She palms his erection through his smallclothes, and he sharply sucks a breath between his teeth.

“I don’t smile at the Senate!”

She chuckles and repeats the motion. “How about I put a smile on your face, then, hm?”

“You are duly welcome to try.”

She leans in and finds his lips with hers. Varis kisses her, earnest but still a bit sluggish with sleep. The Warrior adjusts her position to free up both hands for the task, and then tugs down the front of his smallclothes. His erection jumps free, the head coming to rest against her belly. She supports the base of it with her left hand, the fingers of her right sliding slowly up his length. In the near dark she cannot see his face, but the hitch of his breath is all the guidance she needs. Her teeth catch at his lower lip, disrupting the breathy murmur of her name.

His free hand--the one not attached to the arm pinned somewhere between the mattress and her pillow--gropes down the curve of her back until it finds her bottom. It slips under her waistband fully this time and grabs at a handful of her soft flesh. She lets out an involuntary squeak, fingers squeezing reflexively on his length.

“Careful!” she gasps. “I’m still a little tender down there after last night’s bath.”

“Mm.” He rumbles pleasantly. “Should I kiss it better for you?”

She breathes a laugh. “You already did that last night.”

He smiles against her skin. His head dips down, teeth tugging the soft fabric of her nightgown aside so that his lips can lazily caress the skin on her shoulder. She works him in languid strokes, the lacklight offering no reason for her to rush the task. 

When he comes, it is accompanied by a sleepy, satisfied growl. Varis’ hand slips from her drawers to grip at her lower back. He murmurs his appreciation into the curve of her neck.

Within a few breaths, he has dozed off once more.

The Warrior is briefly irked, as his complete inertia has again rendered her unable to move until he reawakens in a bell or so. The irritation is short lived, though, fading as he rumbles happily in his sleep and nuzzles at her hair. She settles for licking her fingers clean to pass the time until the sun rises.

“I was thinking that I might go for a bit of a walk around today.”

“Hm?” Varis glances away from the mirror. His fingers are busy twisting his hair into place. The Warrior is leaning on the counter, watching him with the interest of one who has nothing better to do with her time than observe her partner go through his protracted grooming rituals.

“In my armor? Since you’re going to be busy, I thought I might try wearing it around for a little while.” She idly kicks a foot in the air. “Besides, I haven’t been out of your quarters in, what, three days?”

Varis adjusts his circlet. “Four, my dear.”

“Four days. I need to get some fresh air. Well, as fresh as I can get while wearing a helmet.”

“It’s fresh enough,” he murmurs. “If you’re going to take to wandering about alone, I will have to acquire a door code for you.”

“A code?”

“A numerical key, rather than a physical one.” Varis uses a hairpin to hold a length of braid at the back of his head. “Surely you’ve seen me use mine around the palace.”

“Yes, of course. I suppose I didn’t put much thought into it.” She shrugs.

“You should have your own key, if you’re going to be living here…” He trails off. There is something subtle and soft hidden away in his voice, a suggestive touch of hope at which she cannot help but smile in response.

“Naturally, yes. I should have a key.”

Varis smiles. In the mirror’s reflection, he looks at her, pale eyes flicking down the front of her nightgown. “Will you need assistance getting dressed?”

The Warrior considers and shakes her head. “No, I think I can manage. And if I cannot, well, that’s my own fault, and I will simply be doomed to another day of lying about in your quarters.”

The Emperor’s fingers work at the other side of his hair. “You could think of these as being… your quarters as well, Warrior. Since you are living here.”

“Ah--” She feels a flush of heat on her cheeks and looks away from her reflection. “Yes, I suppose so.” Feeling a touch daring, she adds: “Or ‘our’ quarters.”

His hands still for a moment before continuing their work. “If it pleases you, yes.”

“It does. I mean, I guess it does--” She turns and leans her backside against the counter, suddenly too flustered to look directly at him. “I mean, what is it that we have going on now, Varis? Are we… courting?”

“Yes.” He replies without hesitation.

“Oh.” She looks down at her hands and smiles. “Okay.”

They are quiet as he finishes with his hair. Then she feels his hand, heavy on the top of her head.

“Permit me to braid your hair?”

The Warrior blinks and looks over her shoulder at him. “What?”

“If I braid your hair, it will fit better into the helmet when you put it on.” Varis gestures at the top of her head.

“Oh. Right.” She considers his offer. “Do you have time to do that?”

He leans and kisses her forehead. “Of course I do.”

The Warrior waits until Varis has departed for his morning meeting with the Senate before she begins to change into her armor. She knows how easily distracted he can become when he wishes to be, and the sight of his paramour stripping down to her smallclothes is certainly enough to warrant him delaying his departure for another hour.

She stands in the bathing room, looking at herself in the mirror. Wrapped once more in the black fibers of the carbonweave, the Warrior again feels a little rush of power, of something more than she usually feels while wearing combat gear. Varis has said that it is because the carbonweave material is supportive and improves blood circulation, but she can’t help but think there is something psychological in effect as well. She doesn’t want to be an Imperial, no, but as a weathered warrior she can at least appreciate the artistry they put into their warfare. It is a strange feeling.

The Warrior traces her fingers along the circumference of the braid that encircles the back of her head. Varis’ personal artistry, forged in a matter of minutes, as though he had done it a thousand times. Though, the Warrior must admit she cannot imagine the Emperor having ever taken the time to work on anyone’s hair other than his own. Why would he have? A prince, a legatus, an emperor--a leader with no reason to lay a kind hand on his lessers.

To a man whose position made him so very lonely, the grip of the carbonweave must have felt like a friendly embrace.

She shakes off the dismal thoughts and puts on the rest of her armor. Last on is the helmet. For a moment she is apprehensive--she has worn her share of helms over the years, but none have been quite so encompassing as this. The tinted tempered glass of the faceplate stares back at her.

The Warrior closes her eyes and pulls on the helmet.

The interior hallway of the Emperor’s suite is her first test run of the new armor. She paces its length several times before getting her full bearings while moving in the gear. Her gunblade clinks softly against her back in time with her steps, its presence a comforting reminder of her adventuring days, when often her weapon’s rattle was the only thing she had to keep her company during long journeys. Once she has gotten used to the slight lack of peripheral vision caused by the design of the helmet--something she has also experienced before while adventuring--the Warrior ventures out into the private halls of the palace.

The reactions from the various guards posted are something of a mixed bag. A few act as though they do not see her pass by at all. A few more blatantly watch her and begin to move as though they want to say something to her. The rest of them all shift to stiffer attention and salute her with all the vigor of their many years of drills and training. Only one--the nondescript soldier manning the door at the end of the corridor near the library--seems to actually recognize her, adding a chipper ‘Good morning, Lady Warrior!’ to their crisp salute. She smiles to herself behind the privacy of the faceplate.

As is her custom, the Warrior lingers in the doorway to the grand library for several minutes. She remains convinced that whatever bothers her about the place is just a trick of her imagination, and that eventually she will be able to enjoy the library without some strange phantom toying at her thoughts. The smell of countless tomes meets her nose even through the filters in her helm, and the pervading chill of the room curls around her limbs. Sighting up the line of the stairs she sees the persistent smirk of the previous emperor committed to paint.

No, she thinks, not today. She still cannot shake the feeling that she is being watched.

The Warrior closes the door to the library and takes a few steps back. This has been venture enough for one day, she decides, and turns to begin her journey back to the Emperor’s quarters.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall gives her pause.

At the end of the corridor a man appears, his heavy armor rattling with every ponderous step. For a moment the man’s appearance catches her off guard. The Warrior thinks she recognizes the armor, but cannot be certain. Wasn’t there a man dressed similarly in Ala Mhigo during her visit there, on the day that Regula van Hydrus died? She stands in place, observing as the man approaches. 

He is a large enough fellow, and nearly as tall as Varis, though not as broad. Lengths of grain golden hair drape haphazardly along the burnished violet metal of his breastplate, cutting distracting lines that lead up to the man’s face. He is wearing a helmet that conceals his features, its faceplate white and ghastly as a bleached skull. The top of the helm is crested with a dragon and the sides with horns very similar to those found on the Emperor’s crown. It is by this simple resemblance that she realizes who the man is.

Prince Zenos.

But, what is the man doing here, in the palace? Shouldn’t he be in Gyr Abania, terrorizing the local populace? Does Varis know his son has returned home?

The Warrior chooses to hold her ground as the Prince’s pace slows to a stop only a few yalms in front of her. His helmet tips forward slightly as he looks down at her. Even though she cannot see his face she can feel the weight of his gaze, and she is glad to be wearing her own helmet.

“What do we have here?” The man’s voice, though muffled by his helmet, is dark and dangerous. It is the roll of thunder sounding from a dark cloud looming at the horizon. His accent is the same as that of Varis, but lacks the Emperor’s practiced poise. It is unsettling.

“No new legatus, but a newly minted officer of some merit, perhaps.” He takes a step closer and she tenses, readying to defend herself. “Or mayhap a new member of my Father’s guard?”

The Warrior is unprepared to answer the question, and remains silent. The Prince’s head sways ever so slightly from side to side--he is sizing her up, not assessing _if_ he can defeat her, but _how_ he will do it.

“Remove your helmet, officer,” he says. She does not comply, and is aware of his right hand clenching. The man shifts his weight closer still, and the contempt in his voice is palpable when he speaks again. “Your Prince commands it.”

The Warrior stands her ground, of no inclination to stand down to an overgrown menace. “I answer only to His Radiance, the Emperor.”

The Prince bristles, rising up to his full height as he reaches for her throat. Instinctively she grabs the hilt of the gunblade on her back and draws it. The edge of the blade catches between two small plates of armor on his gauntlet and knocks his hand away before his fingers completely close around her neck. 

“I know who you are,” he says, his voice a triumphant growl. “You--”

“Zenos!” Varis’ voice barks sharply from behind her, some distance down the hall. The Prince freezes in place, hand still raised in the air near her shoulder. The Warrior feels a bit lightheaded with relief at the interruption, but does not let it show in her posture.

The Prince slowly lowers his hand and takes a step back. There is something awful and insincere in his voice when he speaks over her head. “Why, Father, I was just enjoying the pleasure of meeting your new… pet.”

“You were told to wait in the throne room, not to go wandering about like an unsupervised child.” 

“The champion of the savage lands.” There is a pompous sneer in Zenos’ tone. “Content to spend her days sitting on your lap like a tamed beast.”

“Watch your tongue, boy.” The Warrior does not like the restrained anger in the Emperor’s voice.

The Prince, however, seems indifferent to his father’s tone, and waves a hand as he turns and starts to walk away. “As you wish, Father. But you should keep your pet on a tighter leash, if you do not wish her to come to harm.”

The Warrior watches the Prince’s back as he walks away, the wave of his blond hair still out of place against the dark backdrop of his armor. It is not until the rattle of that armor has nearly faded from her hearing that she feels a shift in the air behind her. The Emperor’s fingers brush over the back of the hand still gripping her gunblade, before taking a light grip on her wrist. She realizes, belatedly, as he pulls the weapon from her hand, that she has not only drawn her weapon on the crown prince, but also struck him with it. She could plead that it was in self-defence, as it was, but instead the Warrior says nothing.

There is a gentle pressure on her back, and a soft click as the gunblade is returned to its holster. When his touch withdraws she tentatively turns around to face the Emperor. Varis’ gaze is as inscrutable as that of a hawk’s, and for a long moment he says nothing.

Then, softly: “You are unharmed?” When she nods, his pale brows dip low over his eyes. “My apologies. I was not aware that Zenos was planning on returning to the capital. I would have warned you earlier, otherwise.”

The severity of his expression leaves her unsettled. “You aren’t upset that I hit him? What about the pardon?”

“You acted in self-defense. Considering my son, no one would disagree with that. And, no, I am not upset with you. Perhaps... a bit concerned. He might take your mettle as a challenge.” The Emperor smoothes his gloved fingers over the bottom of her faceplate, thumb tracing a line over the molded lips. “I want you to return to my quarters for now. Julia will be there to let you in.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

He sighs softly and steps around her. When he starts down the hall, she feels a flutter of worry and calls to him.

“Varis?”

He pauses in mid-stride.

“Be careful. Please.”

The Emperor glances over his shoulder at her. Something close to a smile pinches at the corners of his lips. “Of course.”

She removes her helmet as she makes her way down the stretch of hallway to Varis’ quarters. As promised, Julia is waiting near the doors, standing at rest with her face angled to view down the hall.

“Welcome back, My Lady,” the guard says. She begins to key the door open.

“Thank you, Julia.”

The guard crosses her arms behind her back as the door beeps and unlocks. “Are you alright? His Radiance said you had a bit of a scare.”

Her fingers clench on the smooth surface of her helmet. “I wasn’t afraid.” She pushes the door open with her free hand. “Just a little surprised, that’s all.”

For a moment Julia is silent. Then she says: “I would have been afraid.”

The Warrior frowns at this admission. “How can you protect Varis if you’re afraid of his son?”

The guard shrugs. “I will still do my duty and sacrifice myself for Lord Varis if necessary. That does not mean I am oblivious to the dangers involved. Quite the opposite.” Her chin lowers slightly. “There are numerous reports of Prince Zenos cutting down his own officers and soldiers with little to no provocation.”

She turns and gazes down the dark hallway. “Is Varis safe, then, with just Annia?”

“Of course,” Julia says, perhaps a touch too quickly for the Warrior to be convinced. “Prince Zenos would not bog himself down with hurting his father right now, not when he has other sport he wishes to attend to in his districts. From what I gathered before being sent here, his lordship only returned to the palace because he wished to voice his displeasure directly to his father.”

The Warrior pushes the door open. “Displeasure over what?”

“The loss of Doma. The XIIth was in charge of both Ala Mhigo and Doma.”

“But, Doma was freed weeks ago. Why would the prince only be addressing that now?”

Julia clears her throat. “I believe someone delayed the news reaching Ala Mhigo.”

“Oh. Perhaps so.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Well, thank you for opening the door, Julia.”

The guard salutes. “Of course, My Lady. And, if I might be so bold as to speak out of turn, the armor looks good on you.”

“Oh.” The Warrior glances down at herself and smiles demurely. “Thank you.”

Once back in the privacy of the royal suite, she sheds the layers of metal and carbonweave until she is in naught but her smallclothes. She pulls on her dressing gown and retrieves her old linkpearl. Sitting in the study, the Warrior mulls over her brief encounter with the crown prince of Garlemald. It was true, she had not felt fear in his presence. But alarm had certainly been there, and a certain jarring sense of dismay that despite whatever the Emperor’s best intentions were, he could not keep his own son away from her.

No, she thinks, perhaps she was a little afraid. But, not for herself.

For Varis.

The Warrior spends several minutes sitting on the couch in the study, the lights out, trying to settle her thoughts. Eventually she gives up on that and presses her linkpearl into her ear.

“This the Warrior of Light. I need to send a message, um… In relation to the safety of the wild roses.”

Almost immediately she hears a sputter of static and swearing. “Seven hells, that was not what I expected to hear come up on the line today.”

She smiles. “Thancred, where are you?”

“Can’t give specifics, ma’am,” Thancred says, his voice a bit low and strained. “Currently on a recon mission, trying to access the present situation at the palace in Ala Mhigo.”

“Oh. That’s partly why I called. The prince isn’t there right now. He came to Garlemald this morning.”

“S’that so? Thought things seemed quiet.”

“Prince Zenos apparently found out about Doma and came here to express his displeasure directly with Emperor Varis. I had a bit of a run-in with the man.”

“Are you alright?” Thancred makes no effort to mask the concern in his voice. “That man’s a killer, Warrior.”

“I know. I’m fine. Fortunately it was a brief encounter. But I thought you all should know. He will likely be cross when he returns to Gyr Abania later today. People should be on alert. Well, more than they likely already are.”

“Thank you for the information. We saw his transport leave early this morning, but weren’t sure where he had run off to.”

“Yes, well, he was not given a very warm reception by his father, so I don’t think the prince will linger long here in Garlemald. I will have to call again if he does.”

“Good, good.” She hears a bit of rustling, and then the sound of the Scion gulping down water. “How are you, then, Warrior? Any regrets yet? Being taken care of?”

She sighs at the slight bite to Thancred’s tone. “I’m fine. Varis is doing much better too, thank you for asking.”

“What, was the man ill?”

“Something like that.”

Thancred murmurs her name. “Listen, you know we care about you. You’re still family. If you have trouble or anything, you just call us.”

“I--” She smiles. “Thank you, Thancred. I truly do appreciate it. I know I cannot be much direct help from here, but… thank you.”

He laughs quietly. “Hells, just letting us know the local menace is going to be a bigger pain in the arse is help enough for one day.”

The Warrior shakes her head with a chuckle. “How is everyone else?”

“Ah, good, last I spoke to the Stones. I believe most of them were preparing to head out to a location closer to Baelsar’s Wall sometime in the next coming week.”

She can’t help but frown. She knows what that means--the Resistance plans on moving against the Imperial forces at the Wall. “Tell them all to take care. I don’t want to hear any reports of their deaths while Varis is reading his evening missives.”

“He lets you in on that kind of information?” Thancred does nothing to mask the surprise in his voice.

“Well, somewhat. I don’t think it is on purpose. He just sometimes reads things out loud in the evening and does not seem to particularly care if I hear the contents.”

“That could be useful.”

“It could be, but I’m not here to spy on him, Thancred.”

“Of course.” He clears his throat. “Forget I nearly implied such a thing.”

“I’ll see if I can.” She hears knocking on the door. A quick glance at the wall chronometer shows that it is time for the mid-day meal. “I must go now, Thancred. Take care.”

“You too, Warrior. And remember: we’re still here for you.”

“....thank you.”

The Emperor is standing out in the hallway when she opens the door. He waves the servants carrying lunch through ahead of him, and his eyes meet hers as she holds the door open. His expression is neutral, impossible for her to read--he is keeping face for the servants. The Warrior smiles up at him.

“You’re timely today, Your Radiance.”

He cracks a thin smile at her. “Irritating situations make me hungry.”

When the servants have completed their delivery and departed, Varis dismisses his bodyguards, telling Annia and Julia to return in two bells. Then he enters his quarters and keys the door lock. The Warrior is surprised when the big man heaves a sigh and leans heavily against the closed door.

“Varis! Are you alright?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, brow creasing. “I was not expecting my first day back on the job to be so very taxing.”

“Isn’t that how it goes in fictions? The first day back from a holiday is a disaster, and the last day before your retirement kills you.”

The Emperor chuckles and cracks his eyes open. “Yes, I suppose so.” He pushes away from the door and removes his crown. “I am quite hungry, though.”

She leads the way into the sitting room. Varis sets his crown in one of the empty chairs, but does not sit.

“I suppose you want to ask about Zenos.”

“It was on my mind, yes.” She gestures at her right ear. “I called the Scions when I got back here. I felt like they should know about that…”

“Of course.” Varis sighs, and his chin droops toward his chest. “I am sorry, my dear. I did not want you to encounter him.”

“I know.” The Warrior considers their last conversation. “You were worried he would take interest in me, right? What happened after you left?”

Varis rolls his broad shoulders, lower lip disappearing into a frown. “He expressed an interest in meeting with you again. Something about a test of arms.”

She does not like the sound of that. “And?”

“And, I forbade him from having any sort of contact with you.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“It will, for now.” Varis sighs. “After we concluded our meeting Zenos departed for Gyr Abania in something of a snit.”

She looks up at him, at the painful tightness of his expression and the severe draw of the worry lines that crease his brow. “Hey.” The Warrior reaches up and tenderly cups the sides of his face in her palms. “It’s okay, Varis. You can relax. You’re safe here. It’s just you and me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His eyes widen. “That you would presume to--”

“I am the Warrior of Light,” she reminds him, firm but gentle. “I protect people, especially those I care about.”

Varis closes his eyes, and his brows lower into a pale line. “What do you think would have happened to you had I not interrupted your introduction to him?”

The Warrior contemplates his question. She recalls the frightening young man, nearly as tall as the Emperor himself, but more streamlined and dangerous--the dancer to Varis’ battering ram. “I think I would have had to apologize for the damage done to the wall after I threw him into it.”

The Emperor opens his eyes and looks down at her, eyes darting over her slim form clad in naught but a dressing gown. And then he laughs, body sagging against hers, thick arms wrapping around her and pulling her close along his side.

“You are right, of course,” he murmurs into her hair. “I was foolish to have fretted so.” 

She smiles. “I don’t mind your concern. But just remember that I can fight, too.” She pats his arm. “And don’t say you wish I did not have to fight. That is my purpose, Varis, if not here then in Eorzea.”

Varis considers this. “Were you not a warrior, we would have never had cause to meet.”

“That’s right.”

The frown returns to his lips. “Still, I wish for your safety.”

“And I wish for yours.”

Varis stares at her, his expression contorted as though he has just been kicked in the stomach. After a moment he bows his head. “I do not know what to do with such sentiment.”

“Just accept it.” She thinks of her conversations with Julia and Annia. “I am not the only one who cares for your well being. Your people, those that follow you, that helped you claim your throne… they care about you too. I mean, some are just in it for the power, but that’s people for you.”

He shushes her with a soft stroke of his hand over her hair. “I know. Thank you.”

She rocks her weight toward the couch. “Come on. Let’s just eat. No more talking about your son.”

Varis follows her. “What will we talk about, then?”

The Warrior hums thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you about the time I had to spend two weeks herding chocobos in Thanalan to pay off a debt for my first sword.”

His shoulders slump, and he lets out a laugh before pressing his lips to her braided hair. “That sounds like a phenomenal topic, my dear Warrior.”


	18. Chapter 18

The Warrior of Light knows herself to be something of a creature of habit. Whenever she grows comfortable in a place she will work herself into some semblance of a schedule. This had been no difference when she started adventuring--it helped keep up a farce of normalcy, even when her life had begun to be dragged in further levels of conspiracy and absurdity.

She is no different here in Garlemald.

Starting the morning after her ill-fated encounter with the crown prince, the Warrior dresses in her armor. She takes a morning walk, departing after Varis has left for his first meeting of the day. She walks a circuit, down to the library, which she does not enter, then to stand in one of the exterior doorways and judge the day’s weather. She loops back around, going all the way to the doors that lead to the corridor that precedes the throne room, and then makes her way back. Then she undresses, takes a quick bath, and makes herself generally presentable before the Emperor returns for the mid-day meal.

This is all made easier by another small gift that Varis gave her that first afternoon following the Prince’s visit. 

When the Emperor returned that afternoon, he went through his own ritual of setting his crown on his desk before fully greeting the Warrior. From somewhere in his armor he retrieved a small strip of paper and held it out to her with the bombast of a child brandishing an exam with good marks. The Warrior had taken the paper and looked at it, curious. There were eight numbers written on it in Varis’ precise handwriting.

“What’s this?”

“My nameday,” the Emperor had replied, his tone laced with cheek. At her puzzled noise of response, he’d added: “Your door key.”

“Oh. You certainly rushed that order.”

“I thought it prudent to do so. The key will work to open the door to this suite, of course, as well as some of the courtyard doors, and some of the doors that are locked in the evening when there are no guards present.”

“Thank you, Varis.” She’d kissed his cheek and spent much of the evening committing the number to memory.

When Darksday rolls around again, the Emperor chooses to make it a ‘work at home’ day. This, of course, disrupts the Warrior’s morning habits, but she is not very inclined to be bothered. She is more than happy to spend her day in the Emperor’s company, even if he is mostly quiet at his desk.

“I must admit, I do not entirely understand the appeal of just wandering around the corridors every morning.” Varis is seated as his desk, rubbing a cloth over the lenses of his reading glasses. The Warrior looks up from where she is draped on the couch, book open in her lap.

“It gets boring just sitting around here,” she says. “So, wandering around gives me something to do. And, I think I’m starting to get the hang of the layout of this wing of the palace.” She closes the book. “Also, the guards can be interesting to talk to.”

“They aren’t supposed to be talking to anyone,” Varis says, tone nearly flat as he slots his glasses onto his nose.

“Perhaps, but they seem to be bored as well. So, quite a few of them are rather keen to spread the gossip with me.”

“In exchange for what?” He leans over the back of the couch, frowning slightly. She shrugs.

“Attention? People like to know that their work is appreciated, even if their work is just standing in a very boring hallway for ten hours a day.” She sits up and kisses at his chin. “Even if all I did as an adventurer was tote a pumpkin for some random person, they still thanked me.”

He lets out a soft grunt and kisses her forehead before returning to his chair. “Some would say having such a well-paying boring position is thanks in itself.”

“Perhaps.” She smiles and watches as Varis rummages around in one of the desk drawers. “Did you know one of the guards is to be a father in a few months? His wife is carrying a little boy.”

Varis pauses in his search to glance at her. “I did not. Why do you?”

“From talking to him. Landras, I think his name is. The guard, I mean.” The Warrior shakes her head. “You aren’t going to get him reprimanded by his commander, are you?”

The Emperor sighs and continues pushing scrolls of paper around. “No, no.”

“Good. Thank you. I don’t mean to get anyone in trouble, Varis. Just, some of them do seem very enthused to speak with me.”

“It is your magnetic charm.” His lips pull into a thin smile as he selects one of the scrolls and closes the drawer. The Warrior chuckles and leaves the couch, standing next to the Emperor as he releases the bindings on the scroll and spreads it out on the surface of his desk. It is a map, one that she can tell at a passing glance must be of Garlemald, as she does not recognize any Eorzean borders in its jumble of lines.

“What’s today’s work, then?” She leans against the back of his chair. Varis traces a forefinger over the map.

“I’ve some reports I mean to follow up on, related to troop movements outside of Ilsabard proper. Having the map helps me visualize their progress more easily.”

“I see.” She considers the map. The borders of the continent of Ilsabard are outlined in black, while the various territories claimed by the Empire are a jumble of red and blue lines.

“In simplest terms, those outlined in blue are the provinces that are behaving themselves, those in red are not, as of the last update to this rendering.”

There are more red than blue lines on the map, with most of the blue lines closer to Garlemald proper. She leans in, squinting at the tiny lettering that follows the lines. “This mess is mostly your predecessor’s work, isn’t it?”

The Emperor hesitates. “Well, yes. How could you tell?”

“These are all dates of acquisition, right? ‘Pr. 1552’, ‘Pr. 1557’. They’re all prior to the Seventh Umbral Calamity.”

He smiles at her. “Aren’t you clever, my little Warrior?” Varis makes a thoughtful noise. “Though, I suppose this map is out of date already.” He taps at Doma and its red outline on the paper.

The Warrior considers all the territories outlined in red. “What causes so much unrest?”

“Mm.” His pale eyes study the map. “Some groups of people are simply more inclined to fight than others. Some dislike the financial responsibilities that come with being part of a growing empire.”

She thinks of the many times in the past few years that she has had run-ins with the Empire, or with people who were fleeing the Empire. Something uneasy stirs in her breast at his words. “Do you really believe that?”

Varis makes a vague noise in his throat and does not look up from the paper.

The Warrior reaches and grabs a handful of his silvery hair and gives it a light tug. “Varis. Do you really believe what you said, or are you just repeating your grandsire’s doctrines?”

He grimaces but says nothing.

“I know what the Empire looks like from the outside, Varis,” the Warrior says. She moves around and tilts downward until the Emperor has no choice but to look at her. There is a flatness to his gaze that she isn’t used to seeing there. Uneasy, she presses on. “And, it isn’t good. The only people who celebrate the arrival of Imperial forces are people who are looking to make some gil off the suffering of others.”

He stares at her, eyes hard. Finally he looks down at the map and murmurs: “Is it really as bad as you say?”

“It is, yes. Why do you think so many of your holdings are toying with the idea of rebellion, if not speaking of it openly?” She slowly shakes her head. “The Imperials show up and treat the locals like nothing but lowly savages. That’s what they called us. Savages--crude and uncivilized in comparison to the glorious might of Garlemald. Then you--they--they abuse the conquered and scrape up the land and resources until nothing of value is left.”

The Emperor’s eyes dart to her face at her slip up. “You still view Garlemald as your enemy.”

She sighs and rubs a hand down the side of her face. “Of course I do, Varis. The Empire has always been the enemy, all of my life. I was a child when Gaius van Baelsar led the first efforts to conquer Eorzea. It’s all I’ve known. Just because I love you doesn’t mean I can turn a blind eye to the sins of your people.”

Varis stares at the map again for a long moment. Then he blinks and looks up at her. “Do you mean that?”

“What?”

“Repeat the last thing you said to me,” he commands. The Warrior sighs softly.

“Just because I…” She trails off, covering her mouth with her palm. She feels heat on her cheeks. “I--I mean--I care for you…” She looks away, flustered, and tries to focus her thoughts. “I got carried away with my words. I know the Garleans are people, just the same as anyone else. But, to the people of the lands they conquer, they are naught but monsters.”

Varis leans back heavily in his chair and sighs. “I see.” He crosses his arms and jerks his chin at the table. “Well, then, tell me what you would do to make the subjugated peoples hate the Empire less. Without simply returning their sovereignty.” 

She licks her lips, and thinks of the complaints she has heard over the years. “For starters, stop taxing and tithing them into the dirt. These are hard working people who struggle for everything they have, so naturally they are going to resent being forced at threat of pain and torture and death to give up a chunk of what they have made for themselves and their families.”

“Every ruler taxes their subjects. We are no different.” He scowls. “From where have you heard these grievances?”

“There are a fair amount of people who have fled from Imperially claimed lands. Many of them end up in Eorzea. The accents give a lot of them away amongst the increase of refugees caused by the Calamity.” She leans in toward him. “The Calamity that your people caused, Varis.”

A frown freezes itself onto the Emperor’s face. “We Garleans are conquerors. That is what my grandsire decreed, and that is what he forged us into being.”

“And, who is the emperor now, Varis?”

He clenches his jaw. “I am. A fact that you seem too ready to ignore and forget.”

It takes effort for her not to huff at him in irritation. “Would you have me kneel or prostrate myself before you? Bite my tongue and not tell you the truth that you need to hear before it gets you killed?” Without thinking, she drops to her knees in front of him.

Varis cries out her name, and the hardness falls from his features. “No, please. Do not kneel. Anything but that.”

She looks up at him, and is surprised to see the sheen of tears in his pale eyes. “How else am I to make you listen?”

He shakes his head, big hands moving to hook in her armpits and tug lightly. “I don’t know. Hit me. Curse me. Just don’t kneel. I cannot take such supplication from you.”

“Varis…” She lets him pull her up from the floor, flexing her legs to push up until she is perched on his knees. “I’m not mad at you. I just…” The Warrior looks at the map with its red lines. She thinks of all the people on whose behalf she has fought the Empire. She thinks of all the people she wants to protect. “It is a difficult thing for me to put into words, but… There are many people I desire to protect. I have stood for all of Eorzea, and would continue to do so from here in Garlemald. But, it isn’t that simple for me anymore.” She swallows. “There are so many people in the world who would gladly see you dead. I do not wish that to happen, so if I can do something to lessen that hatred towards the Empire, towards you…”

“You care that much?”

She looks at him again. Varis’ eyes are still wet. “I do, yes.” The Warrior reaches to touch his left cheek, and brushes her thumb along the bottom point of the scar etched there. “I know your grandsire has dug a very deep and dark hole for you and Garlemald, but you don’t have to bury yourself in that same hole, Varis.”

The Emperor turns his head to look at the map. He heaves a sigh, weary but thoughtful. “Reinforce what we already have, then. Make them better appreciate being part of the Empire.” He snorts softly. “As though that were an easy task.”

“It will take time to mend the damage that has been done, but I do not think it impossible.”

“Perhaps.” He takes a gentle hold of the hand touching his cheek. “I will put it into consideration.”

She smiles at him. “Thank you, Varis.” The Warrior curls her fingers into his grasp. “I just want you to listen to me, to my thoughts on these matters. You only know of the outside world from rumors and spies. I could give you my own insights into things, even if I’m not versed in Garlean tactics or anything like that.”

Varis arches a brow. “You wish to act in an advisory role?”

She nods. “Yes.”

With his free hand, the Emperor pushes his reading glasses up along his nose. “Very well. I accept you as my new advisor, Warrior. Just remember that I may not always act upon your advice. But, I will always listen to you.”

The Warrior smiles. “Thank you, Varis. I mean, Your Radiance.”

His lips pulls into a smile. “Mm.” He hums in a low tone for a moment, thumb tracing a line down the center of her palm. “You know, in the old days of Garlemald, if a man asked for a woman’s hand in marriage, she had the right to demand his head if she did not want to wed him. I suppose it was meant to ward off pushy suitors.”

She blinks. “What, really?”

“Really. That’s why, in Garlemald at least, a man kneels before the woman he is asking to marry him. He is offering her his neck, symbolically at least.”

She is admittedly a bit mystified by his sudden change in topic. “Is that… why you didn’t want me to kneel?”

Varis shakes his head. “No. You are far too great a woman to kneel before anyone, Warrior. Never forget that.”

“Do you really think so?”

His lips feather against her forehead. “Of course I do.”

The Warrior turns her face away from the map and its unpleasant connotations. “What if I was kneeling in front of you in order to pleasure you?”

“Ah--” Varis exhales sharply before slowly inhaling. “Well, that would not be kneeling. It would be putting yourself at a more advantageous height.”

She curls herself against his chest and rests her head on his shoulder. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

It is in the evening some two weeks after her return to Garlemald that the Warrior is woken from a nap on the sitting room settee by the Emperor. His left hand is gripping her right shoulder and shaking her lightly. Varis quietly calls her name, brows drawn together.

“Varis?” Her throat is thick, and with her sleep-muddled thoughts she cannot remember settling down in the sitting room for a nap.

He murmurs her name again, the lines on his forehead smoothing slightly. “Are you alright? You cried out. And, well--” The warm leather covering his thumb brushes over her cheek. “You were crying.” She lifts her hand and follows the path with her own fingers, feeling the track of a tear along the side of her nose.

“I cried out?”

Varis’ head jerks at an angle, somewhere between a negative shake and a nod. “Not loudly. I only heard you because I was looking for you.”

She looks up at him, gaze drawn to the red mark on his forehead left by his crown, and can only think to ask: “What did I sound like?”

The Emperor looks away for a moment, brows drawing in again before parting his lips and letting out what sounds to the Warrior like a tiny kitten squeaking in protest at someone pulling its tail. She bursts out laughing, and his expression collapses into relief.

“I sound like a cat?” she laughs. He shakes his head.

“What? No, it was like a… a squeaky door hinge.” Varis offers a hand. She takes it, letting him guide her into a seated position.

“Well, either or.” She rubs her forehead for a moment, thoughts still feeling foggy. “I suppose I was having a bad dream.” She racks her brain, but cannot remember whatever it was she was dreaming about. “I don’t know. I don’t remember now.”

“Does that happen often?” Varis asks.

“I don’t know…”

He gives her hand a squeeze and releases it. “Here, just steady yourself. I’ll get you some water.” The Emperor settles her back into the cushion before going over to the cupboard where their dining supplies are stored. She watches him, still in his full armor, delicately retrieve one of the tea cups and fill it with the contents of the pitcher that sits on what has become their dining table. He returns to her, the pale blue porcelain nearly disappearing in his big hand as he stoops and holds the cup out to her.

“Thank you.”

Varis nods, watching her as she brings the cup to her lips and takes a sip of water. She nods back at him, and the Emperor flashes a small, relieved smile.

“I’m going to change before dinner arrives,” he says in a near whisper. “Will you be alright?”

The Warrior blushes and pushes lightly at the spike on his chest. “I’ll be fine, Varis. Thank you.”

After dinner they take to the study. Varis turns on the radio and pours them drinks and they sit together on the couch. The Warrior closes her eyes, head resting against her companion’s arm, and tries not to dwell on how her head still feels heavy after her nap. What had she dreamed about? She could not remember upon waking, and now all that remains of the moment is Varis’ murmur of concern.

Part of her wants to worry and thinks that she should perhaps find the jagged red stone in her pouch of job crystals and take some private time for reflection. It has been a few months since she felt the need for that--not since the death of the Knight some months before. She had returned to Ishgard shortly after her first ‘escape’ from the Imperials, and stepping foot in Fortemps Manor had been enough to send her fleeing from the scene. She had broken one of the Congregation training dummies to pieces before being found by the Lord Commander. He had taken her to his basement and they had split four bottles of wine while mourning their lost friend. She had woken in his bed the next morning with a curious lack of a hangover. The Lord Commander had not wanted her to leave that day--he had protested, said that she would hurt herself or someone else if she kept pushing herself so hard.

She had kept pushing herself. She had to, she was the Warrior of Light.

Next to her, Varis tips his head until his ear nearly bumps against his shoulder. He murmurs her name. “Are you tired?”

“No,” she says. “Just thinking.”

“You’re tense,” he says.

“That happens when I think too hard.”

The Emperor hums softly, righting himself to take a sip of his drink. “The moon will be full in a week.”

Oh, she thinks, perhaps that is it. Somehow, her hormones being out of sorts is a more comforting cause for her tears than emotional exhaustion. It feels like an excuse, but still feels more agreeable to her. She empties her glass and shifts her weight against his.

“Do you want more?”

“No. Not right now.”

Varis nods and sets their glasses on the table. He wraps his thick arms around her and pulls her into his lap. The Emperor hugs her to him, and she snuggles against his chest, enjoying his radiant warmth. She twists her fingers in a lock of silvery hair.

“Sometimes I feel guilty,” the Warrior mumbles against his chest. “For the loss of those that I could not save. For those that died so that I might live.”

He is quiet, and she feels the weight of his silence as solidly as she does the heavy hand that moves to stroke over her hair. A sigh catches in her chest, and she hiccoughs as she tries to swallow back a cry of sadness.

Finally, after a long string of clicks from the chronometer during the time between two songs on the radio, Varis presses his lips to the top of her head. He murmurs: “There is nothing wrong with such feelings. Being a powerful warrior does not make you immune to the repercussions of your battles, or immune to the loss of your comrades.”

The Warrior considers his words. “I have a difficult time imagining you succumbing to such feelings.”

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle. “Now, now. I have been leading men to victory and death since you were but a child. You said that much yourself, mm? The Empire has always been your enemy.”

“I didn’t mean--” She frowns, tipping her face to rub her cheek against the soft fabric of his tunic. “Though they be my enemies, the deaths of your comrades matter too, Varis.”

“Do they?”

“Of course. Every soul on this star matters. We cannot choose where and when we are born, or to which nation. No more than we can choose who we love.”

“Tis true.” The Warrior can feel the pounding of his heart. “Had someone asked me a few years ago, when I was fresh on the throne and had newly had a stack of reports about the troublesome ‘Warrior of Light’ thrust upon my desk, whether I could imagine myself being an intimate friend of that Warrior, I would have said it impossible.” His voice catches for a moment. “Yet, here I am.”

She echoes: “Here I am.”

The Warrior closes her eyes, lulled into a sense of peace as the Emperor’s hand continues to gently stroke her hair. She listens to the song on the radio--something about its chorus reminds her of the music she sometimes heard drifting out of the cathedral in Ishgard. She remembers walking back to Fortemps Manor after shooting practice, the sound of the cathedral bells ringing through the peaceful quiet of the cold dusk. She remembers her ears being cold, but feeling warm inside, especially where the sharp lines of her gunblade pressed against her chest.

“Varis?”

“Hm?” His hand stills.

“The gunblade you gifted me…”

“Mm-hmm? What about it?”

She carefully adjusts her weight to sit up, though she is loath to leave the comforting warmth of his torso behind. She looks up at the Emperor and takes in his expectant expression.

“Why did you have it engraved in such a hidden place?”

Varis blinks--once, twice--and his pale cheeks flush a bright pink. “Ah--you found that, did you?”

The Warrior nods. “When I was in Ishgard.”

He clears his throat and looks away, gaze seeming to search the gleaming black surface of the radio for an answer to her question. “Did you need me to translate it for you?”

“No, I could read it.”

“...I thought as much.” His brows draw low over his eyes, until their weight appears to push his eyes closed. “I did not think you would find the engraving, not so soon. I had not told you of my feelings when I gave you the gunblade, but I wanted to. So, I hid it.”

She smiles. “It was a surprise. As though I hadn’t already begun to miss you by then, and then there were your words.” A little flustered laugh escapes her. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Varis cracks his eyes open. He finds her hand and takes it in his own, lifting it to his lips. “My Light.” There is something soft and nearly desperate in his whispered words, and the Warrior cannot find it in herself to argue against his claim.

“I am meant to be the Bringer of Light to all the world. And, as far as I can see, Varis, this room counts as part of the world.”

He murmurs against her skin: “I did not truly realize how dark and cold my world is, until you became part of it.”

The Warrior of Light looks up at the Emperor, and thinks of the many trials she has faced over the years. “And I did not realize that, for all those who needed me in Eorzea, the one who needed me the most was beyond its borders.”

“I--” The color on his cheeks darkens. She leans in past their clasped hands, and presses her lips to his.

“I must say, though, more and more I am glad that the one in want of me was you.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [please prepare your tissues, this is a bit of a cry cry chapter.]

The tiles are cold beneath the Warrior’s bare feet as she leans on the counter and watches Varis begin his shaving ritual. She shifts from foot to foot, wishing that the radiator would hurry up and warm the bathing room. The marble of the counter is cold, too, but at least the steam from the water filling the sink is some relief. Varis glances down at her while working shaving soap into a lather and smiles.

“You could go back to bed,” he says. “Or go sit someplace warmer.”

“Am I a bother?” she asks. The Emperor chuckles and shakes his head.

“Nay, I just hate to see you be cold. You act so pitiable.” He sets the mug down. “I’ll have the tailor procure you some slippers.”

She looks at him for a moment, wondering if he might be mocking her somehow, but decides he isn’t. She nods. “Okay.” The Warrior rests her chin on her palm. “I don’t know. Is it wrong to just enjoy having this quiet time with you? Before the rest of the world wakes up to cause us problems.”

Varis looks at her while holding a steaming washcloth to his face. “I suppose not, if it makes you happy. Your presence does not bother me, Warrior. Quite the contrary.”

She grins up at him. “Were that completely true, you would let me help you shave.”

He still does not let her hold the razor, but he does acquiesce to her insistence of aid. Varis’ lips press into a careful smile as the Warrior spreads the shaving soap over his cheeks and jaws, the last bit of foam being dragged over his chin and upper throat.

He inspects himself in the mirror. “Very thorough.”

“Only the best for the Emperor.”

The Warrior pads over to the radiator and warms her feet while Varis begins to shave. She thinks back to her times in Ishgard, of most nights having to wear at least socks when she went to bed, if not her boots as well. Even covered in rugs and furs, the wooden floors in many of the buildings in the See had always felt unforgivable and solidly frozen. There had been something wrong in that chill, something unnatural in the iciness that seeped into every facet of Ishgardian life.

Here in Garlemald it was just… cold. The bathing room floor was only cold so early in the morning because that was how the Emperor preferred to keep it. She had inquired one cold-toed morning, and he had simply shrugged and said that there were heating systems in place under the floors, but he didn’t like how hot they made his rooms. He had promised that sometimes during the winter months he did turn the heating systems up as needed, which had only baffled the Warrior into wondering what season it was supposed to be in Garlemald where it was cold and snowing but somehow not winter.

“You will know when it is winter,” was all Varis had said in response to her speculation.

She warms her bottom on the surface of the radiator while letting her mind wander. It goes again to Ishgard, to the verdant land that now lay frozen under snow and ice. For a brief moment, before she can clamp the thought down, she thinks of the Knight, of his grave. She pushes that aside and recalls another thought.

“I know this is a strange request,” she starts. Varis looks up at her, razor half hanging from his fingers.

“Hm? What is it, my dear?”

“Well…” She rubs a finger along her right temple. “The thought came to me, when I was still in Ishgard, that I never saw where Regula was buried. And so, if it weren’t too difficult for you, I might like to see the place where his grave lies. If you could take me there, when you had the time.”

“Ah.” There is a soft splash of water as he dunks the razor into the sink. “I suppose I could take you there this morning.” The Warrior is not oblivious to the uneasy tone of his voice.

“You don’t have to do it today, if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready--I mean, if you have more important things to do today.”

“No. Just the usual holding of court. Nothing of great importance on the agenda.”

She watches him clear the right side of his face. “Have you been to his grave? Recently, I mean.”

“No.” The word is flat and final, and she knows better than to press that issue.

The Warrior clears her throat. “Well, I would be glad to have you accompany me today.”

“Good.” He pauses, eyes leaving his reflection for a moment to look at her. “I’ll show you what to wear.”

A bell or so later, the Warrior of Light exits the palace at the Emperor’s side. Julia trails her usual distance behind, but there is no additional retinue in slow pursuit. As instructed by Varis, she is wearing one of the dark gray dresses that she had been given the month before, with her black coat on top. A long crimson colored scarf is wrapped neatly around her neck and shoulders. Varis is wearing a similar scarf, but over a pair of dark grey dress slacks and a maroon button down he is wearing an elegant white coat befitting his station, trimmed in brass and several flashes of the Imperial emblem. With his pale hair and skin, she thinks the coat makes him look like a very large snow wraith.

The Warrior remains close to his side as they walk. The streets are busy today, but everyone gives the Emperor and his companion a wide berth. Varis pays the crowds little mind, and barely moves to acknowledge those who gesture at him in respect.

“Tell me something, Warrior,” he says after a few minutes. His voice is low, a touch subdued, and she nearly had to strain to hear him as his voice drifts to her ear on the morning current. “The Knight you speak of. The one you lost just previous to our first meeting. Do you still consider yourself in mourning of his loss?”

She frowns at the question. It has been nearly half a year since the death of the Knight, and she admittedly has tried not to think too much about him, or about what happened. “I don’t know. It still makes me sad to think about it, about him. But I don’t, I don’t know, burst randomly into tears over it.” She doesn’t know what the Garlean mourning customs are, so she doesn’t drag out her statement. Looking up at him, she can see the Emperor’s jaw clench for a moment before relaxing.

Varis doesn’t look at her. “Were you and he… intimate?”

There is a tingle of heat on her cheeks. “Oh, no. It wasn’t like that.” She isn’t certain that the Knight’s persistence wouldn’t have one day driven it to that point. That will forever remain an unknown, and she feels at peace with that fact. “But, Haurchefant was very dear to me. So, his loss did hurt quite badly.”

“I see.” The Emperor’s expression settles into a somber grimace, eyelids half lowered as though bracing against the cold air. The Warrior wonders if perhaps his question wasn’t really about Haurchefant at all.

They traverse the distance of several blocks in mutual silence. She keeps an eye on Varis, but the big man has retreated into his thoughts and only stares straight ahead. She wonders if perhaps this was a bad idea, if forcing him to confront his friend’s death again might do him some harm. It briefly makes her consider stopping and calling off the venture. But, Varis said yes to this, and she knows him to not be the sort to agree to something he does not want to do. At least, when the person is not his late grandsire. The Emperor’s reactions to even the mention of the man are enough to tell her that he loathes how thoroughly cowed he was by Solus zos Galvus.

At an intersection of two roads they come to a stop before turning and continuing on. Varis hunches his shoulders and adjusts the collar of his coat before correcting his posture. The Warrior breaks her focus from him to look around. The buildings they are passing are still mostly uniform and unremarkable from one to the next, though she is quite certain that she can smell bread baking.

Finally, the Emperor coughs quietly and speaks. 

“Regula isn’t buried,” Varis says. She looks up at him, but doesn’t press. “A majority of Garleans, when possible, choose to have their bodies cremated. The flesh is burned away, releasing the trapped aether back to the star, leaving behind naught but the inert bits to remain as a reminder of the… impermanence of our existence in this world.” He gestures at the ground. “Also, the permafrost makes it difficult to properly entomb the dead in the earth itself. There are a few families that keep their own land with the intent of preparing it for burial during the brief time in the late spring when it might be possible. And there are quite a few who choose a mausoleum over a columbarium.”

“So then, where is Regula?”

“He rests among the greatest of the men and women of the Republic and Empire. In the Hall of the Honored Dead.”

She nods, dwelling upon his words. There is much to be said for the character of a people that can be inferred from how they treat their dead. Many of the graveyards she has seen in Eorzea are sad, rough affairs, sometimes little more than a hole in the ground. No wonder the Garleans would think Eorzeans to be savage, if their funerary customs were part of the assessment.

From behind them, Julia called: “The way has been cleared, Your Radiance.” Varis nods but does not otherwise acknowledge the statement. The Warrior looks back to the bodyguard, then then up to her companion.

“What does that mean?”

“I had her call ahead and request that any guests in the Hall be asked to depart before our arrival,” he says in a detached voice.

“Oh, I didn’t want to throw anyone out, you didn’t have to--”

He inclines his head slightly in her direction. “I did not do it for you, my dear.”

She blinks in realization. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you would want to go in alone.”

“‘Tis the privilege of the emperor,” he says. “Perhaps one I do not indulge in all that much, but still mine all the same.”

“Of course.” The Warrior sees a pinch of pain in his expression. She wants to reach out to him, but isn’t sure that she should. Certainly not in public. The Garleans look to their leader like something of a god--though that was mostly his predecessor’s doing. Still, she asks: “Varis, am I a secret indulgence of yours?”

He hums low in his throat. “An indulgence, certainly. But, no secret. I daresay much of the city knows of your presence at my side by now.”

“And, you’re in approval of that?”

“I am.”

“Okay.” She glances around, noting the scattering of people they pass by on the street. The ones in uniform stop and smartly salute the Emperor, while the handful of civilians simply stop and offer a polite nod or half bow. She considers her actions, and then reaches to hook her hand in the bend of his elbow.

A soft noise of surprise escapes the Emperor, and he looks down at her. She meets his gaze. His mouth opens for a moment, and then closes. Varis smiles and looks down the stretch of the street before them.

“We’re nearly there. Just a few more blocks.”

On the outside, the Hall of the Honored Dead blends in with the rest of the street, the heavy granite blocks of its facade drawing no attention among the other dark buildings. The only thing that makes it stand out, to the Warrior’s attention at least, is that there are no fewer than a dozen soldiers in parade dress standing out in front of the dark wooden entryway. A second count confirms that there are fourteen soldiers at attention, gunblades resting on their shoulders.

“One for each legion, yes,” Varis says. “They stand together to guard all and their own.”

“I see. They’re nicely dressed.”

“Indeed. It is considered a very high honor to be selected to perform the deathwatch. Many of the Hall guards will be interred in the Hall themselves one day.”

She wonders: “Did you ever, um, perform that duty?”

Varis shakes his head, and his arm flexes enough to squeeze at her hand. “No. I was not permitted that privilege.”

“Oh. Because you were a prince?”

“Prince, Legatus, High Legatus. ‘Twas not my place to stand guard for the dead of Garlemald.”

The Warrior smiles at him. “Fear not. There is yet time for you to do good for those that still live.”

He makes an uncertain noise and squeezes her hand again.

They approach the front steps that lead into the Hall. With precision and uniformity that borders on farcical to the Warrior, all fourteen of the guards salute the Emperor at the same time.

One of the guards steps forward. “Your Radiance, we are honored to have you in our presence. There are no functions scheduled for today, so please feel free to visit at your leisure.”

Varis stares down at the guard, his silence stretching out to the point of almost being uncomfortable. Belatedly, he nods.

“Very good. I am humbled by the valiant duty that you and your men perform for our people.”

The guard salutes respectfully and steps back into line. Varis half turns and holds his hand out to the Warrior. “Come. Let us go inside.”

The Emperor orders privacy, and the heavy wooden doors are bolted behind them after closing. The Warrior surveys the Hall of the Honored Dead. Its interior reminds her more of a cathedral in Ishgard than a graveyard. The ceilings of the columbarium are vaulted, reaching heavensward until they peak in an elaborate series of stained glass windows that paint the cold morning light with hues of gold and blue. The air is still but not heavy--it is the delicate silence of the peacefully resting dead.

The walls of the Hall are lined with niches beyond her counting, most of them sealed shut and covered with plaques of varying complexity. Statuary fills the floor space, men and women eternally preserved in marble and granite, some armored, others in graceful mourning garb.

It is all beautiful and beyond what the Warrior expected from the austere exterior of the building, and the generally faithless and reserved Garleans. 

A thought flickers across the front of her mind. “Is Emperor Solus interred here?”

Varis shakes his head. “No. He was not cremated. Truth be told, I know where his funerary monument stands, but not where his body was laid to rest.”

“Is that not a bit strange?”

He frowns. “Perhaps. In truth, I do not need to know. I hold little desire to honor the man.” Varis holds up a hand for a moment, then lowers it. “‘Twas among his final orders not to be interred here.” The frown twists itself into something a touch more bitter. “I suppose if you could find the corpse of Gaius van Baelsar, he might be able to tell you where my grandsire wished to be buried.”

She lightly touches his elbow. “I… It’s alright, Varis. I was just curious.”

The Emperor’s unpleasant expression holds for another long moment before shifting to something more morose in nature. He nods. “I understand.”

The sound of Varis’ boots striking the tiled floor echoes through the long chamber like gunshots. He flinches and stops short, and when he continues walking his steps are softer. The Warrior of Light follows him, keeping her own steps as light as possible.

“I have not been here since Regula was interred,” Varis says. His voice is low, nearly a whisper. “I did not--I did not see--” His voice catches in his throat and he stops.

“You stayed outside?”

The Emperor bows his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “I was not permitted inside during the interment ceremony. Only the family and the _Mortismeritum_ were permitted in.”

“Not even as the Emperor? Or his best friend?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Even the Emperor must follow the customs.”

The Warrior reaches and takes his hand. “I’m sorry, Varis.”

She can see his larynx shift hard as he swallows. “Thank you.” He lifts his head but does not look at her. She can see the pain lingering on his face as his eyes scan the rows and rows of the dead. “I do not know his exact location, but he should be amongst the Sixth.”

The Warrior nods and lets him lead the way. Varis walks slowly, mindful of the weight of his gait, but also seeming to be surveying the statues and niches that they are passing. After a few minutes he stops and squeezes her hand.

“Ah, my Father.” Varis gestures at a bronze statue to their right. It is of a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, seated with his head bowed and draped in funerary robes. The man is holding a scroll in his left hand, and a small scepter emblazoned with the Imperial emblem in his right. The Warrior leans in to look at the cast face, and feels a strange sense of recognition. Though more youthful and less weary and worn, the dead man looks uncannily similar to Varis.

“He’s handsome,” she observes. “I can see where you get it from.” Varis grunts in what she thinks sounds like agreement. She looks down at the nameplate attached to the statue. 

‘ _Sabinus yae Galvus -- Most Honored Son of the Emperor’_

“I don’t remember him very well,” Varis murmurs. “I was still young when he took ill and passed.”

“And your mother?”

Varis just shakes his head. He looks away from the statue and gives her hand a gentle tug as he starts to move away. The Warrior thinks of all the loss the Emperor has suffered. She drags her heels and tugs back, shaking her head. He stops and looks down at her, brows lifted.

“Varis, I--” Her thoughts tumble discordantly for a moment, and she shakes her head again. “I’m not going to die on you, too. I promise.”

He says nothing. His fingers slip from her grip, and the Emperor stoops to wrap his arms around her. He buries his face in the collar of her coat.

“I mean it,” she whispers. “I’m the Warrior of Light. I don’t get to die so easily.”

“Do not say such things,” he whispers in return. “That is not something you can promise me, my love.”

She knows he is right. The silent witnesses to their embrace are proof enough of that. “I would if I could.”

“Thank you.” He kisses her cheek as he rights himself. “I would make you the same promise, were it possible.”

The Warrior blushes and smiles despite the gravity of their location. “Good.”

Varis murmurs as they continue on. “I was at the palace in Ala Mhigo dealing with Zenos when word came through of Regula’s death. It was almost immediate--someone on the _Gration_ patched me through on their line, likely while you were still fighting the Eikon.” He shakes his head. “I could not believe it--it seemed impossible. Regula, dead? I had just seen him a week before. And then they reported again, that the Warrior of Light was there, saying the same thing. Saying that the Eikon had killed the legatus.”

“And then you had them ask me to surrender myself to their custody,” she said dryly. 

“I did not want to raise any suspicions. I just wanted--I needed you. I needed to hear the truth from you.”

“Why me? We were strangers, Varis.”

His brows draw low over his eyes, and she wonders at his thoughts. He says: “I knew you would not lie to me. Yes, we were enemies, but I just… I knew.”

She nods in acceptance of his answer. Her mind drifts back to that time, nearly two moons ago now, when she had spent that night sleeping on the Emperor’s lap. She thought of how he had all but collapsed against her upon her arrival, how he had clung to her for support as though she were a close member of his family, or a dear old friend. He had made no attempt to hide his suffering from her. And, stranger though he was to her, her instincts had told her that this was okay, that this was how it was to be. Because she was the Warrior of Light, and it was her duty to be kind, even to him.

Now, watching as his expression remains strained and sorrowful, a different feeling settles over her. She does not want the Emperor to suffer any more than he already has in his life. Already so much, too much--it has already been more than any one man should live through and be expected to maintain any dignity or sanity. The Warrior wants to protect him. She would hold him to her breast and let him cry forever if she could, if it would stop him from hurting one more time.

When the Emperor stops again they are standing in front of a collection of niches all marked for fallen members of the Sixth Legion. Some of the dates are from centuries before the founding of the Empire, from the days when it was still a republic. She focuses on her companion. His gaze is shifting intently from one nameplate to the next. She knows he has found what he is searching for when she hears his breath catch in his throat. The Warrior moves closer to him to study the placard. It is made of cermet, resting just below his eye level, and the inscription is a stark black against the blue sheen of the dark metal.

‘ _Regula van Hydrus -- Legatus of the VIth’_

Varis’ gloved fingers reach out and trace a line over the words. The Warrior looks up at him, and is concerned by the wounded expression etched into his features. He looks to be in physical pain, teeth gritting against some unseen assailant, eyes nearly pinched shut. She moves her hand to touch his back, but his shoulders jerk and she stops. Varis slumps forward until his forehead nearly touches the smooth surface of the placard. He is briefly motionless, and then he coughs so roughly the Warrior fears he might be choking. Varis’ hands fly to cover his mouth, and then he sinks until his knees are touching the cold tiled floor. His coughs are replaced by ragged sobs, so loud that she cannot help but glance back to the entry doors, worrying that Julia might think to come to the Emperor’s aid.

She lets Varis weep for a long minute, watching his shoulders quake. His hair has fallen over his shoulders and hides his face, but she can hear the soft strike of his tears on the floor. When the initial crash of his sorrow has passed, the Warrior crouches at his side and rests her hand on his back. His muscles tense, and his breath cuts off in the middle of another sob.

“Let it out,” she whispers. The Warrior sits on the floor and hugs his closer arm against her chest. Varis half slumps in her direction, but turns his face away. He is still weeping, but the cries are more restrained. She rests her head on his shoulder. The Warrior does not know what to say. She has barely been able to deal with her own losses, how can she possibly help Varis with his?

She strokes a hand slowly down his back. He shudders, and the subdued noises break into fresh sobs. His weight shifts and settles against her, and his face turns to press into the shoulder of her coat. His frame seems heavier somehow, burdened with the added weight of his sorrow. The Warrior, well versed in that load, lends her own mass to his, holding him up and letting him grieve.

She thinks, and cannot recall him crying since the day of the Legatus’ funeral. If he has, it has been not merely in private, but hidden away entirely. Her eyes sting, and she feels the burn of a tear escaping from the corner of her right eye.

“There is no shame in mourning the ones we love,” she whispers. “None at all.” The Warrior kisses at what of his hair she can reach without moving him. “Please, Varis. If you need to cry, come to me. I will keep you company. No one should… should have to bear their pain alone.”

His only acknowledgement is a snorted sniffle among his tears.

It takes a long time for the Emperor’s tears to run dry. The Warrior is half surprised that Julia does not peek in to make sure that he is okay, but the woman is dutiful, and Varis had asked for privacy. The Warrior herself is the only one who had dared intrude, though she is not entirely sure that such a term applies to her presence.

Varis grows still, his breathing a bit labored. For a few minutes he is quiet, and then he gingerly begins to sit up. She watches him, takes in his tear reddened eyes and face. There is something soft and childlike to the sorrow in his expression. He looks at her, brows drawn together and jaw half clenched.

“Head hurt?” she asks. He nods. “Here, let me help.” The Warrior focuses her aether into her palms, coalescing the energy into as good a blizzard spell as she can manage without the proper gear. She presses her cold hands to his cheeks and eyes. A soft noise of relief escapes from the man.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice thick. Varis sniffs when she pulls her hands away. “That is a useful trick.”

She smiles and brushes a few stray pale locks of hair back from his face. “Anything for you.”

“Ah.” He kisses her cheek. “I am sorry…” He stops and shakes his head. “Thank you. You are ever a balm to my heart.” The Emperor spreads his hand over the base of his throat. “I had not realized how encumbered I have become by my grief. I suppose the melancholy of this place got the better of me.”

“I meant what I said, Varis,” she says. “Regula is still your best friend, and it is natural to need to shed tears at his death. He has not been gone so long as to be forgotten, and… and…” Her words fail her, and she shakes her head.

“I understand. And you are correct. Regula was a near constant fixture in my life for so many years. He deserves to be missed. And remembered.”

“That’s right.”

He tilts his head back and stares up at the nameplate. There are tears welling in his eyes again, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “She gave me the stone, Regula.” He swallows. “You were right. She truly is brilliant. I just wish you were here to see… to see...” A tear escapes and streaks over an already damp track. “I am sorry, [ _my dear brother_ ], but even with you gone, I have never been so happy.”

The Warrior looks up as well. “Yes, thank you. For being such a good man.”

In her arms, the Emperor lets out a soft gasp of emotion that is quickly smothered by another mournful sigh.

She feels a stab of heat behind her eyes, one that has not visited in some months. The Warrior of Light squeezes her eyes shut as her mind fills with the crackle of static, and her ears ring.

Her Echo activates.

When the static clears from her mind, the Warrior is quick to look around. She can tell where she is almost immediately--there is something innately familiar to the drab, utilitarian room she is in, as well as the faint vibration she can feel through her feet. She is in a private room on a Garlean warship _._

“I mislike leaving you at a time like this.” She hears Varis’ voice, and turns to look for its source.

The Emperor is seated on a chair that can barely contain him, wearing his usual black carbonweave pants but no shirt. He is sitting with his back straight and palms resting on his thighs. A quick glance makes the Warrior think she is seeing something fairly recent--the pattern of his scars is no different from how she knows it to be in the present day. His eyes are closed, and his brows are drawn together.

Behind the chair stands another man, taller than she but shorter than the Emperor, with dark hair, pale blue eyes, and a delicate third eye on his forehead. His angular face is handsome, but not belonging to anyone she recognizes. He is also clad in black carbonweave--pants and undershirt. The man hums faintly, a tune that the Warrior’s mind nearly catches as something she has heard before, but cannot quite remember when. The man’s fingers are busily working a braid into the Emperor’s hair. His work is somewhat inelegant compared to the braids the Emperor creates.

“I can handle this mission on my own,” the man says, and she recognizes the voice, though she has never heard it unaffected by a helmet before.

Regula van Hydrus. 

“I know you can. I still do not like it.” Varis’ lips purse into something between a scowl and a pout. The legatus finishes one braid, taps Varis’ shoulder, and places the end of the braid into the Emperor’s freshly outstretched hand. He starts on the other side. “Dealing with the Warrior of Light is dangerous business, or have you already forgotten what befell Gaius and his men?”

“Ah, that’s what this is about. And here I thought you were cross with me.”

The corner of Varis’ mouth quirks upwards. “Not unless you have done something scandalous and not informed me of it.”

“Of course not, my lord.” Regula’s reply is quick and trilled in a bit of a sing-song. Both men chuckle. “So, you’re still thinking about that young woman, then, Varis? Isn’t she a bit out of your league?”

“What?”

“The Warrior of Light. That’s why you want to accompany me on this dreadful trip back into Azys Lla--the Warrior of Light will be there with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, like as not. You want to see her again.”

The Emperor’s face remains an impassive mask, but she hears him whisper her name. Louder, he says: “Do not be presumptuous. I am merely curious about the nature of the containment for these primals.”

The legatus chuckles and takes the first braid back. “Oh, I am certain that is all that is on your mind.”

A look of soft petulance settles on Varis’ features. The Warrior recognizes the look, but still does not quite understand its origins.

Varis says: “Even were that on my mind, more like than not, the Warrior of Light has done everything she can to forget about our first encounter, given that it was most likely an… unpleasant experience for her.”

Regula’s lips pull into a smirk. “That was not the picture you painted for me when it happened.”

Varis shoots an irritated look over his shoulder. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Oh, do not be like that. ‘Tis charming, the grizzled old man having warm thoughts in his world weary heart.” He pats down the Emperor’s hair, his touch gentle despite the brutal tease in his voice. “You need more friends, Varis.”

The Emperor scoffs. “I am in no place for more friends. I don’t want more friends. You are more than sufficient.” He frowns. “Besides, the mortal enemy of our great nation is not the best choice for a friend.”

“I am certain you could think of something. She could be useful as an ally, if nothing else.”

Varis sighs. “Perhaps so.” He rises to his feet with the grace that the Warrior has come to expect from the tall man. “Tell me: do you still have the [ _trust stone_ ]?”

“I do, yes.”

“Good.” Varis crosses his arms. “Should you cross paths with the Warrior of Light, I want you to assess her character. Should you think her worthy of it, give her the stone.”

Regula’s tone is careful: “And if I do not?”

Varis grunts. “Let her live. I do not wish any harm to come to the Warrior of Light, beyond that which she willingly throws herself into.”

The legatus smiles. “As you command, my lord.”

“And you can… make mention of how she fares, in your evening report.” He clears his throat. “Should you cross paths with her.”

“Of course.” Regula’s fingers idly trace the line of a scar on the Emperor’s shoulder. “Well. I wish you a safe trip home.”

Varis nods. “And I wish for your success in your venture. Hopefully the Scions will not meddle too greatly in your plans.”

He chuckles. “If the Warrior of Light is with them, there will certainly be some meddling. Isn’t that what you said, mm? She shows up at inopportune times?”

A faint, wistful sigh escapes the Emperor. “Indeed.” 

The legatus lifts a hand to Varis’ chin and gives it a squeeze. “Chin up, [ _brother_ ]. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Ah. You do not have to do that.” The Emperor leans in and presses his forehead to Regula’s. The Warrior can hear the faint tap of one smooth third eye touching the other. Varis sighs again. “But, thank you.”

Regula salutes the other man and departs from the small room. The Warrior waits, and is surprised that the Echo does not end with his departure. She turns back to watch Varis.

The big man’s shoulders slump once he is alone in his chamber. He stares at the closed door for a long while, fingers moving to trace the circumference of his third eye. Eventually he goes over to the bed with its rumpled covers and retrieves the black undershirt that has nearly fallen onto the floor. The Emperor pulls it over his shoulders and carefully works the zipper from waist to throat.

He closes his eyes. “Warrior of Light.” Varis sighs and nearly whispers her name. “Please, do not be too harsh with Regula. He means well.”

When the Echo fades, the Warrior feels first the hammering of a heart beneath her palm, and then hears her name being murmured by the Emperor. She slowly opens her eyes. Her vision is partially obscured by a wave of platinum hair, but she quickly realizes that Varis is holding her against his chest. He murmurs her name again.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment as she waits for the usual aching head that follows an Echo to pass. “I’m okay, Varis.”

“You collapsed,” he says, voice thin with worry. “Are you ill? Do I need to call for a medicus?”

She looks up at him. His eyes are still red with his weeping for Regula, but he is not crying now. She wonders if perhaps he has run out of tears for one day.

“No, I’m fine, I just… I had a vision with my Echo.” The Warrior tries to remember the last time her Echo has activated like this, but cannot. It has been a few months. Perhaps she has blocked out the memory.

“That just happens? And you cannot control it?” His hand strokes down the curve of her cheek.

“It does not happen that often. Just… sometimes strong emotions in someone can trigger my Echo. Especially if those emotions are attached to a specific memory.”

Varis’ brows lift briefly. “You can see the memory of a Garlean? Even though we cannot use our own aether?”

“It’s all the same to the Echo,” the Warrior says. “Just because you cannot tap into it does not mean that the aether is not there.”

“I see.” Varis hesitates as he mulls over her words. “Then, you saw one of my memories?”

“I did. It was… I think it might have been the last time you saw Regula, a few months ago. You told him to give me your trust stone.”

A thoughtful hum escapes from the Emperor. “Ah. Yes, that was admittedly on my mind.”

The Warrior considers what she has seen. She decides not to press greatly on the subject of his fallen friend. “I hadn’t realized that you had been thinking about me.”

“Mm?” Varis looks at her, but his expression flinches bashfully and he looks away. “How do you mean?”

“In the time between our first and second encounters. That was several months and I--well, I didn’t really think about you. Maybe once or twice, or if you came up in conversation among my associates. But not…”

The Emperor lets out a soft huff and laces his fingers with hers. “You were busy slaying gods and dragons and whatnot. I would not expect you to waste any time thinking about the man who had his way with you while you were being held captive. Especially since I know that you were keeping your needs satisfied in Ishgard.”

She watches his shoulders sag and head droop further. “You feel bad about our… our first private encounter?”

Varis does not look at her. “I took advantage of our respective positions. It was not proper behavior, for a man of my standing or anyone lesser.”

The Warrior thinks back to that first time, and feels her neck grow warm. “I permitted you to have your way with me, Varis, or did you forget that part? I may have been practically in my smallclothes and unarmed, but you should know me well enough by now to realize that had I not consented I would have tried to claw your eyes out.”

“It was consent under duress.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I still enjoyed it. And I did not come to regret it later.”

He looks up at her, and then back to their hands. “All the same.” Varis sighs. “To answer your question, yes, I did keep thinking about you afterwards. It is as I said before: I fell for you, like the lonely fool that I was. You lit a little fire in the cold hollows of my breast, and it was all I could do to warm myself over its flame.”

“What about Regula?” 

Varis makes a faint noise in his throat and shakes his head. “‘Twas not the same feelings. Not by then, at least.” He glances at her again.

“What would have happened, if Regula had lived? With your… flame.”

“I do not know,” the Emperor says. For a moment he looks pensive, and then frowns. “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps we would have seen each other on the opposite sides of some war table. I am not sure that I could have withstood that--to sit and see the hatred in your eyes, to be faced with you as naught but mine enemy.”

The Warrior imagines such a scenario, and it makes her chest seize with sadness. “Perhaps you would have reached out to me before it came to such an end.”

“Perhaps.”

“Otherwise, I likely would have lived on, thinking you loathsome like everyone else in Eorzea, based alone on your… war record.” She looks down. “Even though I am a warrior and I know that the record is never the whole story.”

He grimaces, but nods. “And that would have been a fair assessment.”

She reaches and takes one of his hands between her own. “I regret that it was Regula’s death that brought us together again. Would that he yet lived, I would thank him for being such a good friend to you.” She draws his hand in close, holding it over her heart. “But, even for the route it required, I am glad that we did have another chance to meet, so that I might love you like you do me.”

Varis stares at their hands, his pale eyes widening after some slow consideration of her words. Finally, he finds his voice: “As am I.”

She leans toward him and whispers: “Is it legal to kiss in this place?”

The Emperor’s cheeks darken. “Yes, but perhaps not the most considerate of things to do.”

She muffles a laugh against his knuckles. “Fair enough. I will save that for later.”

His eyes are still red from crying, but he smiles. “Good. I will claim your kisses later.”

The Warrior nods. She tilts her head back, scanning the columns and rows of niches until her eyes find that with the placard bearing the name of Regula van Hydrus. She thinks of the man she encountered too briefly in Azys Lla and her Echo. He seemed something of a sweet, noble man, a rare commodity in Garlemald. But not, she thinks, remembering the man’s own words, of a completely unique sort. He could think of another, then, and she can think of them now. The Warrior lowers her gaze to Varis’ face. He is intently watching her, hand heavy and still between her own.

She says: “Regula was your most trusted adviser, yes? What would be his advice for you right now?”

The Emperor’s voice rattles pensively in his throat. “He would say…” He huffs a soft laugh. “He would ask me why I haven’t offered you my neck yet.”

She blushes, fingers tightening around his hand, hoping he doesn’t notice the sudden jump in her pulse. “He was the spontaneous sort, then?”

“Far from it,” he rumbles. “But, he would still ask. Regula could be a tease when he wanted to be.”

“Ah, I see.” She swallows.

Varis stares at her, his soft expression settling into something solemn. “I will ask you one day, my Light. But not today. I know you are not yet ready for that question.”

The Warrior lifts his hand and brings it to her lips. She tastes the salt of dried tears on the leather of his glove.

“And, one day, my Emperor, when I am ready… I will say ‘yes’.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20! Thank you so much for reading, and for the lovely comments as well. They really do make me happy. ♥
> 
> Here's to the next ten fluffs.

In the dull hours of the early morning she awakes to the sound of a sneeze. Another follows, and then the bed shifts and shakes as Varis worms his way out from under the covers and heads to the bathing room. In her sleepy state, the Warrior immediately scoots to the warm spot under the covers. Another sharp sneeze rouses her from a fresh doze, and she squints as she peeks out from under the heavy blanket. The light in the bathing room has been turned on.

She calls: “Varis?”

A muffled noise of acknowledgement comes from the bathroom, but no actual words from the Emperor. Curious and sleepily concerned, she abandons the warmth of the bed and pads over to the bathing room door. Inside, Varis is leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest and what looks like a small metal tube poking from between his lips.

"What are you doing?" she wonders. His reply is to hold up a finger. So the Warrior waits, all the while rubbing her arms against the chill of the room.

Varis squints at the tip of the metal tube before retrieving it. He clears his throat, which makes a unpleasantly thick sound. He peers again at the tube.

"I was assessing my temperature," he says. "Gauging if I had an elevated temperature. It's called a thermometrum." He gives her a vaguely doubtful look as he pulls a handkerchief from a drawer stuffed full of the little cloths. 

"Oh. We don't have those in Eorzea."

Varis blows his nose. "Then, how do you know if someone has a fever?"

She steps closer and touches the back of her fingers to his forehead. "You are a bit warm."

"That is not very scientific." His lips tuck into their usual pout before he turns himself away and sneezes yet again. 

The Warrior smiles. "We manage somehow." She takes in his dismal countenance. “When was the last time you took ill?”

Varis shakes his head. “It has been some time. The severe cold seems to keep--” he sniffles and makes an uneasy noise, bringing the handkerchief to his nose. “--such illnesses at bay. I must have been exposed to something carried by one of the representatives from Dalmasca who visited earlier this week.”

"You poor thing."

"Don't you get sick?" He tosses the hankie in a bin and washes his hands with a grimace.

"Truth be told, I can't say I've had much in the way of any illnesses since… Well, since I received the blessing of the Light. I mean, it could just be some odd coincidence…"

"Perhaps so." He sighs. "I will have to follow protocols and page the guard to contact my personal medicus. He will be able to make certain that it is not gravely serious."

"It might be for the best." She considers their appearances. "Though, in the interest of decency, we might want to at least put on our dressing gowns."

The Emperor appears to consider the state of mutual nudity they had both reached before snuggling under the covers the night before. His lips pull into a smirk as he opens the drawer to retrieve another hankie. 

"Yes, my deal Warrior, I think you may be on to something with that idea."

The medicus is summoned, but the man takes his time in arriving. The Warrior has time to dress herself, assist the weary Emperor in putting on his sleepclothes, tidy up a bit, and greet his bodyguards when they arrive, all before there is another knock on the door to the royal suite. She kisses Varis’ forehead and goes to answer the door.

“The chief medicus is here,” Annia reports. She gestures to a somewhat chubby midlander Hyur with fair hair and spectacles perched on his nose. The man is holding a small case, and looks vaguely irritated to have been called to his duties. “Medicus Shaw?”

“Yes, yes.”

The Warrior holds the door open to admit the medicus. “He’s in his chambers.”

The doctor looks at her. He is plainly accessing something about her appearance, but she can only guess what. She waves down the hall, and with a nod the medicus clears his throat and heads to where the Emperor is waiting.

The medicus speaks loudly as he approaches the bedroom door. “Honestly, Your Radiance, you should know better than to call on me before mid-day if you aren’t, at the least, half dead.” The Warrior frowns at the back of the man’s head as she follows him into the room.

“You know I don’t give a piss about your hangovers, Micah.” The Emperor glances past the doctor’s shoulder and smiles. “Do not glower at him so, Warrior. He is mostly harmless.”

“Mostly!” The medicus tutts softly and sets his bag at the foot of the bed. “A cold, then, Varis?”

“I believe so.” He leans his elbows on his thighs, lowering his height so that the doctor does not have to strain himself holding a small light to his eye. “Started overnight.”

“Mm, yes. I’ve heard a complaint or two from the guards who manned the conference with the Dalmascans the other day. That mouthy consul was blowing his nose the whole time.”

“I thought as much.” Varis grimaces as the medicus peers into his ear, pulling on his earlobe, fingernail nearly snagging on the edge of the small emerald stud that graces the Emperor's ear. “Micah, you’ve met my companion, then? The Warrior of Light.” He murmurs her name and smiles. “Warrior, this is my personal medicus, Micah kir Shaw.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she says dryly, crossing her arms over her chest. The doctor flashes her an uneasy smile.

“Yes, we met on the way in. I had heard of the new Lady of the palace. She is certainly as lovely and intimidating as the rumor mills have suggested.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Ah--well--” The medicus just shakes his head and turns his attention back to the Emperor. The Warrior huffs and continues glowering at the man. There is little else she can do at the moment to contribute, and glaring makes her feel a little better.

Varis looks at her as the doctor continues to prod. “I’m sure he means it as a compliment, love.”

The medicus has his fingers on the Emperor’s pulse, and he is half-squinting in concentration. “Does she have a knife? Should I be concerned about my safety, Your Radiance?” His hands move to probe at the lymph nodes on his neck, and Varis tips his head to accommodate.

“She’s just feeling protective, I think.” He winks at her, and she huffs softly.

“You don’t have to tease me.”

“I think it’s cute.” Varis grunts and lifts his left arm for further prodding.

Eventually, the medicus finishes his business. “You’ll live.” The hyur makes a show of patting the Emperor on the head like a sickly child. “You’re due for another physical, though. I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to worm your way out of it. You can’t just edict your way into good health.”

“It has worked thus far.”

The medicus sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll have the alchemist send a few things for you: painkillers, saline drops, and so on.” He looks at the Warrior. “Will you be helping take care of him?”

“She doesn’t have--”

“I don’t mind,” she says, and casts a warm smile at Varis. He snorts softly, and then muffles a cough.

“Very good. Let’s see. Make sure he drinks plenty of water. No coffee--” He glances at the Emperor as he makes an irritated noise. “For the first few days, at least. Just have his girls--er, his bodyguards--call for the kitchen when he can use some hot broth and the like.”

“I’m not a child,” the Emperor grumbles.

“You called me when the sun was barely to the rooftops,” the medicus retorts. “He’s fine to read reports, but nothing too strenuous. His Radiance should be fine in a few days.”

She does not like his nearly dismissive tone. “And if he isn’t?”

“Then you keep waiting. These sort of little things just have to work their way out of a person’s system. Even for a person as brawny and robust as His Radiance.” The man shakes his head again and waves a hand. “If he takes a mysterious turn for the worse, then contact me. I am ever at the Emperor’s beck and call.”

“Thank you, Micah.”

“Just doing my duty.” The doctor smiles. In Garlean, he adds: “[ _You’ll invite me to the wedding, won’t you_?]”

Varis sputters in response and begins to cough.

When the medicus has escaped with his life and and limbs attached, the Warrior of Light returns to the bedroom.

“He doesn’t know about your Echo translating Garlean,” Varis says, picking at his handkerchief with a sheepish cast to his features. She exhales a soft sigh.

“I appreciate their enthusiasm, I suppose.” She extracts herself from her dressing gown and tosses it to the other side of the bed. “Breakfast should arrive in half a bell or so.”

“Oh. Good.” 

The Warrior looks at Varis, taking in his playfully meek behavior and considering the interaction she had witnessed between he and his doctor. 

“Is everyone in the palace who works for you a former comrade at arms of yours?”

He dabs at his nose. “Where I can manage it. How could you tell?”

“That man spoke with almost a complete lack of respect for your rank,” she says. “Worse than me.”

“Ah. I suppose so. The medicus has always been the sort whose actions speak better than his words.” Varis shrugs and settles back into his pillow. “I do not doubt his loyalty, or my safety in his care. Many of the scars I bear are from him tending to wounds that were meant to take my life.”

“I see.” She reflects upon the many men and women she has met during her travels. Some of her most stalwart and dependable allies were naught but prickly pears at first--and tenth--glance. There had been a time where she would have preferred a scowl to the possible duplicity of a friendly smile. The Warrior chuckles and nods down at him. “Very well, you know him better than I do, Varis. I will trust your judgement.”

Varis’ eyes widen slightly. “Indeed? That comforts me to hear.”

“You wouldn’t be where you were now if you weren’t capable of making choices for yourself.” She sits on the edge of the bed and touches his knee. He makes a noise of agreement.

“I am just--I am glad that you think me capable of thinking for myself.”

She grins at him. “You might need some supervision in your current state, but I still believe in you.” The Warrior reclines and rests her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you.” Varis’ voice is a bit muffled, as he has pinched the handkerchief over the end of his nose. “You know that you are not obligated to take care of me, don’t you?”

She tilts her head to look at his profile, and can see the gold of his eye cut to look at her. “I know. Perhaps I want to.” And, she does. There is the usual urge to protect, of course, the one that she is no longer certain whether or not it is that of the Warrior of Light or something internal. But there is something else, something not fierce but gentle in its intensity. She wants to hold the man in her arms until he feels better, and if that is not possible, she still wants to stay at his side so that he feels comforted and safe with her presence. She wants to stroke his aching muscles and help him bathe when he is too fatigued to manage on his own. She wants to daub a salve to his skin when his nose gets red from being blown too much, and sneak extra honey into his tea when his throat grows sore. She wants to do all this and more for him, but does not know how to tell him.

She says: “Perhaps we can take a bath after breakfast.”

They linger in the tub for a long time, until the water has cooled to the point of bordering tepidness and the Warrior is nearly certain the wrinkles will never leave the pads of her fingers. The dawdling had not been entirely intentional. She had washed the Emperor’s hair, and by the end of the process he had dozed off in her hands. When a gentle shake did not rouse him, she was unwilling to further disturb him, and had remained with him in the water until finally he had shifted his bulk and returned to his senses.

Now he is safely out of the cooled water and patted dry. She braids his damp hair and manages to get him into his soft pajamas without incident. He is already drowsy again by the time she has tied his waistband shut, and the Warrior wonders what exactly was in the tonic the medicus had sent for him to consume with his breakfast.

She flips his pillows so that the fresh, cool side is facing up, and helps him settle down onto the mattress.

"You're too good to me," he mumbles sleepily. She smiles, and slowly strokes her hand over the Emperor's forehead. His skin is warm and a bit flushed, but she thinks this is just left over from his bath.

"Don't be silly, this is just a basic kindness."

"You would do all this for anyone?"

The Warrior laughs softly. "I might not spend the whole day waiting on someone hand and foot, no…" She laughs again at the embarrassed noise that rumbles in his chest before he lets out a weak cough. "But, for you I am glad to."

"'Tis just a cold," Varis mumbles. He still presses himself into her hand.

The Warrior just shakes her head and smiles. As she watches the big man drift off to sleep, she cannot help wonder at how little tenderness it takes to stir the man's spirit. Had no one--other than perhaps Regula--ever shown him a gentle hand before when he was ill? Were there no members of the royal family who had truly cared for him as a boy when he had lost his parents? The thought saddens her, as she knows that this had left him vulnerable to whatever wicked machinations his grandfather had seen fit to inflict upon the young man.

The Emperor's shoulders twitch as he muffles a cough in his sleep. She presses her palm to his cheek.

"Do not worry, Varis," the Warrior whispers. "I will not leave you. Just rest."

The next morning, the Warrior again wakes as the bed shifts underneath her. It is still not quite dawn, the first grays of the morning barely give her enough light to see when she cracks her eyes open to watch Varis' shuffling progress to the bathing room. His sneeze echoes in the open space. She hums lazily and shifts her weight toward the spot of warmth left behind under the covers.

A spasm of pain twitches through her abdomen, and her eyes fly open.

"Shit."

In her driven focus the previous day, the Warrior had all but forgotten the date. She curses again under her breath as she sits up, hands moving to press at a spot low over her belly. Somehow, month after bloody month, her damned menses always manage to sneak up and catch her unawares. She hears a sneeze from the bathing room and sighs. At least this month she is here in the palace. Last month she had been in Ishgard, and…

It is strange, she thinks as she crawls to the edge of the bed, that to be here in Garlemald feels more like being home than she might have expected. Perhaps it is just her hormones messing with her head.

Or, perhaps it is her growing attachment to the man who drowsily calls her name from the doorway.

"I did not mean to wake you." His voice is soft but a bit rougher than normal.

"It's alright. It wasn't you. Not entirely, at least." The Warrior gets to her feet and grimaces at an unwelcome wetness between her thighs. "I needed to get up, anyways."

"Are you ill as well?" Varis asks. She hears his hand brush against the wall, and winces as the lights in the bathing room hum to life.

"No," she says with a sigh. "Not sick." She tries to keep her knees together as she approaches the bathing room door. The Warrior reaches and presses her palms to his cheeks. "You're still warm, dear Varis."

He turns his head to kiss at a palm. "Yes, I am still ill." The Emperor shifts his bulk out of the doorframe to let her pass. "And you?"

"My menses."

"Oh." He turns his face away and sneezes. "Can I get you anything?"

The Warrior pauses in retrieving her supplies from a cabinet to look at him. "No, I think I have what I need. You should just go back to bed."

Varis makes an uncertain noise after blowing his nose. "Are you certain?"

She smiles wryly at him. "It's a bit late to prevent this menses, Your Radiance."

"Prevent--oh."

Her meager smile stretches into a playful grin. "I'm joking. Go lay down."

"But you-"

"Can get myself situated just fine." She reaches and touches his cheek. “Unless you want to join me in the bathroom and do shots of pain tonic?”

Varis looks to the sink. “That might not be a bad idea. Just make sure I take what the alchemist sent for me and not you. I have not a sufficient fortitude for that.”

They spend much of the day in bed, aside from when they mutually stagger down the hall to take their meal. Then they return to bed. The Warrior lays on her side, humming contently as Varis’ strong fingers knead at the muscles of her lower back. His fingertips dig into the miserable flesh there, and it is painful, but she does not complain. With every release of his fingers there is a flush of pleasure where the pain ebbs.

She groans into a pillow at a particularly sensitive spot, and his warm fingers still on her back.

“Should I stop?” he asks.

“You aren’t hurting me,” she mumbles in reply. “If you were hurting me, I’d stop you.”

“It sounds like I am.”

The Warrior pushes up on an elbow to look at him. “It’s a good kind of pain, I promise.”

The Emperor does not mask the doubt in his expression. For a moment his brow furrows in thought. Then he leans and presses a kiss to her temple.

“I will be right back,” he announces, and departs from the bed. The Warrior waits patiently, as she has no reason not to, listening as he rustles around in one of the drawers of his bureau. He returns after a few minutes, the mattress dipping under his weight as he scoots back to her side. He looks plainly pleased with himself, she thinks. Varis holds out a small brown cloth sack. She looks at it, and is surprised by the gesture.

“My heating pad. I’d forgotten about it.” Her eyes sting with tears, and she smiles. “Thank you, Varis. You’re too sweet.”

He exclaims anxiously and folds his hands around hers. “Are you crying? I did not intend to make you cry. Last time it helped with your aches.”

His question does make her cry, but she smiles through it and shakes her head. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

He watches her as she focuses her aether into the little crystal inside her heating pad. “What ought we do now?”

“You will get some rest,” she says. “And I will get some rest. We’ll take turns getting rest, until we have gotten all the rest that there is to be had in all of Garlemald.” The Warrior taps the end of his nose. His lips pull into a smile before he sniffs.

“I suppose that the task will be more amenable with you at my side, dear Warrior.”

“I think so, too.” She pats his shoulder. “Here, lie on your side, facing the edge of the bed.”

The Emperor does so without question, settling his weight onto his right side and placing his head on his pillows. The Warrior positions herself behind him, lower abdomen just adjacent to the base of his spine. She places the heating pad between them, adjusting its location until it rests against the worst of her cramps.

After a few minutes, he sniffles. “That does feel quite nice.”

She wraps an arm around his torso and lightly rests her palm over his heart. “Yes, I thought you might enjoy it.” She presses her forehead into the wave of soft hair that rolls down his back. “Sleep now, my sweet.”

When she wakes again the heating pad has cooled and the pain is spiking fresh in her belly. Her hand and forearm are still warm, wrapped in Varis’ arms and held against his chest. A slight shift of her weight informs her that she needs to make another trip to the bathing room. Regretfully, she pulls her hand free. 

Not wanting to disturb Varis' rest, she crawls the long way out of bed. The Warrior has been in the bathing room freshening up for several minutes when she hears him croak from the other room.

He calls: "Can I get you anything?"

She smiles and laughs even though she is in the midst of washing the blood from her hands. "No, dear, can I get you anything?"

After a brief delay, she hears him grump: "I asked first."

She goes to the doorway, fingers busy drying on a towel. Varis is sitting up in bed, the pale, scarred skin of his torso colored with a bit of a flush. He is pitched forward, nose red and eyes squeezed nearly shut.

"Do you need to take more of the tonics the medicus sent for you?"

He rumbles quietly. "'Tis medicine, not some witches’ brew." He gropes at the bedside table until finding a handkerchief and blows his nose. "But, yes. It has been a few hours."

The Warrior watches, touched in her heart by pity for the man as he hauls his powerful frame out of bed. He hisses softly, fingers gripping at the bedcovers as he leans for a moment. She offers her hand when he reaches the door. Varis takes it and gives it a squeeze. For a moment she thinks he looks ashamed at his condition, but the look quickly fades as he releases her hand and shuffles over to the counter.

"Why don't you take another bath? We can put in an order with the kitchen, and I'll brush your hair."

Varis rumbles again, but nods.

When she returns from speaking to the guards out in the hallway, the Warrior finds that Varis has successfully disrobed and sunk into the big tub. The water is still filling the basin. His eyes are closed, and so she takes it upon herself to cut off the flow of water before it overflows. Varis grunts sleepily and tips his head to look up at her.

"You aren't joining me?"

"I'd rather not have to set myself to rights again so soon," she says with a smile. The Emperor sniffles. "I'll be right here."

The Warrior retrieves one of his hairbrushes and settles at the edge of the tub. She situates herself behind where Varis is lounging and dunks her feet and calves into the water just behind his broad shoulders. He hums and rubs his back against her toes.

"Your feet are cold," he observes. She pokes at him with a big toe before pulling the thick mass of his hair into her lap. The Warrior carefully works through his hair, freeing the occasional tangle and brushing it smooth. Varis is quiet, but for a soft hum of contentment. With his congestion, the noise makes him sound more like a big cat purring.

She works his hair into a long braid, not terribly neat or lovely, but still enough to wrangle his mane into a single mass. There is something calming to running her fingers over the long line of hair, over hill and valley, hill and valley, until she reaches the end where the tips are still damp from when Varis first got into the water.

Her concentration breaks when her muscles seize again, and with a sigh she lets the braid go and carefully extracts herself from the water and the press of porcelain and warm flesh. The Warrior gives Varis a gentle shake, as he has started to doze off again. She helps him out of the bathtub, but he is momentarily mulish and refuses her aid in drying himself. The Warrior is patient with him, because she knows he is just trying to convince himself that he feels better than he really does. He manages, though halfway through drying his calves he sneezes and for a moment looks distraught while trying to decide whether or not it is appropriate to blow his nose on the towel.

The Warrior turns away, so she cannot say for certain what he decides to do.

Varis is less argumentative about her aiding him in putting on his smallclothes and pajama bottoms, rumbling some drowsy lewdness while she ties the laces shut. She laughs and pinches his thigh, promising that he will be properly tended to in a few days, when they are both feeling better. The Emperor pouts at her as she holds out his dressing gown.

He says: “I could order you.” That just earns him a kiss on the cheek and a gentle shove toward the sitting room.

When he is finished eating, Varis sits next to her on the couch and snuggles close to her side. His warmth is a comfort to her aching muscles. The Warrior strokes her hand over his forehead, and thinks perhaps he is not quite as hot as he has been since taking ill. Varis murmurs affectionately before turning his face away to let out a restrained cough. Then he settles his bulk further in the cushions and against her side.

The Warrior feels peaceful and adored and tolerably sore.

By mid-morning on the third day of her menses, the Warrior has started to feel the usual agitation of restless boredom that comes with not leaving the suite. Varis seems a bit better, she muses, if only in that he is hoarse and coughing more now instead of as much sniffling and sneezing. The medicus stops by briefly after breakfast to check on him, and declares that, in the interest of mercy, the Emperor can have a cup of coffee.

She watches the big man clutch a comically small mug of coffee in his hands and nurse it as though it were full of some very expensive liquor. It takes her a great deal of effort to not laugh when Varis takes a sip, sighs happily, and then turns his face to his shoulder to cough.

She teases: "Are you two going to need some time alone?"

"Mm, no, you may stay and watch." He takes another sip and repeats the pattern.

The Warrior traces a finger along the part in his hair. "I was thinking of going for a short walk. The activity will make me feel a little better."

Varis does not initially reply; he is too focused on taking another sip of coffee.

"You should come along. Stretch your legs and breathe some different air. Maybe give the maid a chance to sneak in and refresh things."

"I have not been incapacitated by my illness," he says. "''Tis just a cold."

"Then a little walk should suit you just fine." He purses his lips, so she presses on. "Your subjects do care about your well being, Varis."

"They're paid to."

She shakes her head. In a sing-song, the Warrior says: "It will make Annia and Julia happy to see you out and about."

The Emperor rolls his eyes and drains the last of his mug. "Fine, fine. I have naught else to look forward to now that the coffee is gone."

She smiles and kisses his cheek. "There's a good man."

The corridors are conspicuously vacant, the Warrior notices. Annia is standing back at the far end of the hall, of course, but otherwise it is as though someone has gone ahead of them and dismissed the usual guards so that they do not see the Emperor strolling along. When she looks at one of the empty posts, Varis slows and coughs softly.

“When my grandsire yet lived…” He coughs again and shakes his head. “As he grew older, there were times when he succumbed to bouts of histrionics. Well, more than his usual theatrics. He got worse after Granmama died--would go on screaming rampages through the private wing in naught but his dressing gown. He took to tormenting anyone he crossed paths with when he was like that, and so it became common custom to clear the halls when one seemed to be starting. We lost fewer guards that way.” Varis grimaces and tugs her hand, continuing down the hall.

“Was he sick?” she wonders. The Emperor is quiet for several yalms before replying.

“He was full of hate,” he says. “Perhaps the hate sometimes made him sick in the head.” He turns his head and coughs into the sleeve of his robe. His other hand reaches and grabs hers, lacing his thick fingers between her own and squeezing. The grip is startling but not painful.

“Varis?” She looks up at him. The Emperor’s expression is stuck in a grimace, as though he is holding in a cough.

He whispers: “I do not wish to end up as he did. Alone and hateful and trying to claw my way out of my own flesh.”

She tries to sound assuring. “You don’t have to, Varis.”

The Emperor shakes his head. “At times I fear that it is too late for me. I have spent the last four decades steeped in the darkness that permeates the heart of this land. The darkness that my grandsire so carefully cultivated by word and by action. I fear I am doomed to drown in it, as he did.” He frowns. “I love this land, but I am not blind.”

The Warrior thinks. She squeezes his hand. “You live, so it is not too late. Just as you may drop a glove into the river, and lose it for days… Even if it is soaked through completely, it will always dry out when spread out in the sunshine.”

His brows furrow for a moment. “I am afraid I do not entirely understand what you mean.”

She admits. “It was a sloppy allegory.” The Warrior stops and looks up at him. “Think of Ishgard. They spent a thousand years entrenched in a war with the dragons due to betrayal and misunderstanding. But there was always hope for an end to the war.”

Varis cocks his head to the side. “You think I am at war with myself?”

She nods. He makes a thoughtful noise but does not reply, instead choosing to continue their stroll down the long hallway.

The Warrior is reminded faintly of the first time she had walked at Varis’ side. It had been nearly half a year ago now, on the _Gration_ , as he led her back to her cell that morning after breakfast. She had been wrapped in a blanket against the cold of the ship, and the Emperor had carefully measured his steps so that she did not have to chase after him. They had discussed Regula…

“Varis, tell me something.”

“Hmm?”

“The first morning, after we met. Before I left… did you really need to get my name for the prisoner logs?”

His eyes flick to the side as he tries to recall the moment she is referring to. Varis lets out a low, raspy chuckle. “No, of course not. Your title was sufficient enough for the records. It is not as though there are a great deal of Warriors of Light running around.”

She had suspected as much. “Then, why ask?”

“Because, I wanted to know your name.” There is a brief flash of boyish charm to his smile.

“You could have just asked directly. I would have told you; I already knew your name.”

“Perhaps. At the time, asking you directly was too daunting a task.”

She blinks. “You were afraid of me?”

“Of course.”

She stares at him, thinking again to that time. He had seemed impossibly intimidating then, too large for his own skin. At the time, she could not have tried to imagine that the Emperor of Garlemald might be anything but that unmoving mountain. That he might have been actively afraid of her beyond the Empire’s usual unease at her power was unthinkable.

That he might be a person she came to care for, that she--

The Warrior laughs.


	21. Chapter 21

A week passes, and things go back into their ordinary paces for the Warrior. Well, as ordinary as they can be for a woman who has found herself living in the bedroom of the ruler of an entire empire, rather than roughing it out in the wilds fighting various monsters and Ascians and other forms of destruction. She returns to her morning armored walks around the palace, and Varis resumes his duties despite still being somewhat hoarse and prone to coughing fits. The coughing concerns her a little, as she has seen men and women waste away in such fashion back in Eorzea, and she does not want that to happen to Varis.

The chief medicus insists that the big man will be fine, lets her listen to him breathe with a strange metal bell on a tube, and promises that the Emperor will stop coughing if he stops talking so much. The ‘to you’ is silent, but implied all the same. She knows that Varis is not a talkative man. While he enjoys listening to her talk, and is always responsive to her, the Warrior knows that he is not so chatty with anyone else. Perhaps with Regula in the past, but now she has taken his place as the only person to which the Emperor seems comfortable talking. She knows she promised Varis that she had no intention of trying to be the legatus’ replacement, and she still does not, but the Emperor is a man of habits. She has simply slotted into that empty position. It is a peculiarly comfortable fit.

The Warrior does not mind--she would rather her lover trust her than not--but the medicus’ polite jabs remind her that she is not universally welcomed in Garlemald. This does not bother her either, as she has learned over several years of adventuring that a person cannot win over everyone. There will always be dissidents. A person like she will invite more than the average person, and someone like an emperor even moreso. This will always be the case, it is part of the nature of mankind. Even if she spends the next fifty years in Garlemald, there will still be people here who hate her and who would celebrate her defeat and demise. All’s the same back in Eorzea. So, she decides that to actively worry about it would be a waste of energy, and settles on doing as she has done before.

She will continue to be careful.

“Did you know that you pout when you are thinking too hard?” Varis asks this at the end of dinner one evening. She blinks out of her musing to look at him. The Emperor bathed after returning from his last meeting of the day, and the flash of his pale bare skin under his dark green dressing robe is nearly enough to draw her to fresh distraction. She blinks again and finds his face. His lips are pinched in amusement.

She says: “What?”

“You do,” he says. Varis takes a sip of tea, and his voice is smoother when he continues. “It is cute, but I would hate for the look to stick on you as it has on me.”

She considers the near-permanent downturn of the corners of his lips and laughs. “I like your little pout, Varis.” She leans to him and kisses at his lower lip.

“Do you? Most would find it unappealing.”

“I trust it more than the mien of a man who does naught but smile,” she says. “Men hide things with a smile.” She prods at a crease that frames his mouth. “You hide your thoughts behind a frown.”

“It is just how my face works,” he grouses. “I cannot help it. ‘Tis a fault inherited from my grandsire. He was always grim, always frowning. He only smiled to fool people. He only smiled when he had decided their fate.”

“I like your smile. I have to work for it.”

A hint of color appears on his cheeks, and he muffles a cough behind his left hand. “You put effort into making me smile?”

“Sometimes.” She smirks. “Sometimes, I do not have to.”

The corners of his lips twitch, and he looks away. “Truth be told, there are many times that I must struggle not to smile when I am around you. And there are times when I am in a meeting and you sneak into my thoughts, and I must work not to smile then as well.”

She wonders if there is some perceived weakness in a smile in Garlemald. “Would that be such a bad thing? To smile, when thinking of the woman you love?”

He chuckles, followed by a shallow cough. “They might take offense to knowing that I am thinking of you and not whatever repetitive, petty business they are rambling on about.” Varis drains the last of his tea. “That besides, I have been told that I have a sinister smile.”

“Oh, please. You’re fine when you don’t show your teeth.”

They both laugh.

Varis sets his tea cup down among the empty dishes and rises to his feet. He holds a hand out to her, and she takes it without consideration. 

“Come,” he says. “I think it is nearly time for a radio program I wish to listen to.”

She stands. “Would you object to me doing a quick check-in with the Scions? It’s been a few days…”

The tick of irritation at their mention is brief and mostly hidden. “We would not want to give them cause for concern.”

“...haven’t seen any Imperial patrols all day. It’s been awful; I wish something would just happen.”

The Warrior tilts her head at the sound of an irritated sigh from Alisaie through her linkpearl. She smiles.

“Be careful what you wish for, Ali.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that calm before the storm. Gives me jitters.”

She looks from her spot on the couch over to the cabinet that houses Varis’ radio and private alcohol collection. Varis stands before it, back to her and arms crossed as he stares silently at the bottles. “It will be over soon though, won’t it?”

There is a pause on the other end. Then: “He’s sitting right there, isn’t it? Warrior, you can’t just go and tell the Emperor our plans.”

Of course I can, she thinks. “He is here, yes. Unless you forgot that I live with the man, Alisaie.”

The young Elezen huffs softly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You seem to think the Empire is oblivious to whatever is going on beyond the Wall,” the Warrior says. “They have eyes everywhere. I don’t have to tell Varis a thing, and he already knows plenty.”

She hears the girl sigh. “Then, I don’t have to tell you anything. You can just ask him.”

“I suppose I can.” At the cabinet, Varis half turns to look at the wall chronometer. It is nearly to the next hour. “I must be going. But remember: I have faith in you all. Just don’t let Alphinaud convince you to do anything stupid.”

There is an amused scoff over the line. “I’m going to tell him you said that, Warrior.”

When the call is ended, she removes the linkpearl from her ear and sets it aside. Varis is still turned to look at the clock, but now he angles his head to look more directly at her.

“They mean to make a move, then?” When she nods, he says: “Then, it is as our spies have suspected.”

She thinks of her exchange with Alisaie. “If you know, why ask?”

His broad shoulders roll in a shrug. “Simple curiosity. The Twelfth can handle whatever happens on their own. And, were they to prove themselves suddenly mysteriously incapable, the remainder of the Fourteenth is on call not far from Gyr Abania.”

“That’s true, yes.” She rubs at her earlobe. “Don’t you… don’t you care, though? About going to war again?”

The Emperor stares at her. “No. Garlemald will be victorious, as ever.”

“You’re fortunate that I am here and not there, then.”

His brows draw together, and Varis shakes his head. “That does not bear any discussion.”

Emotions roil in her breast--worry, sadness, frustration--and she rests her heels on the edge of the sofa and wraps her arms around her knees. “I don’t… I don’t want this war.” She feels foolish saying the words aloud to him, and tears sting at her eyes. The Warrior turns her face away. “I’m sorry.”

For a long moment Varis is quiet. There is the faint clink of glass against glass. Then: “You’ve no reason to apologize, my dear. The conflict is a loathsome, wasteful thing, but naught can be done for it, now.” There is something slightly detached in his tone, and the Warrior can tell he does not want to talk about the pending war. Not right then, at least. Not with her. She squeezes her eyes shut. His voice drifts down to her again. “I cannot just tell them to withdraw.”

“You could.”

A sigh escapes him from somewhere deep in the cavern of his chest. “If I could do it, just for you, I would.”

“I only wish you would listen to me.”

He says her name, soft, imploring. “I am listening to you. But, do you remember what I said? I cannot always act upon your advice.”

“I just do not understand. Why Gyr Abania?”

“It is a foothold. You know that.” She hears his heel scuff on the floor as he turns away. His tone turns vaguely exasperated, directed away from her. “What in the hells would I do with Zenos, then?”

She does not reply. After a moment, he sighs again.

“I do not wish to speak further of this matter tonight.” There is the soft hum of machina, and the radio comes to life. “We can discuss it later. But, not tonight. Please.”

“What’s so special about tonight?” she asks, turning her face to look at his back. His big hand is lingering over the buttons on the face of the radio. The music is bright and a bit bouncy, a far cry from what she is used to hearing being played on the capital’s station. Her ears catch the timing of a waltz, though at a faster pace than the slower tunes she has heard played at Ishgardian venues. Varis sits next to her and places two empty glasses and a bottle on the table in front of them. The Warrior shifts her weight and lowers her feet back to the floor.

“Today is… would have been…” He hesitates and reaches for the bottle. “Regula’s forty-fifth nameday.”

She blinks, looks at the bottle, and then to his face. His lips are pursed, and he is staring intently at the curved glass and the honey colored liquid inside.

All she can think to say is: “Oh.”

Varis runs his thumb along the curve of the bottle. His expression settles into something wistful and nostalgic. “I acquired this for him a few months ago, for his nameday. ‘Tis a bit expensive, but it was his favorite, and he was always a man of few indulgences…” His thumb traces a line over the date embossed on the label. “We were going to drink it, and embrace like we were naught but young men again, and not two creaking old men on the wrong side of forty.”

The Warrior brushes her fingers along his sleeve, but it is not enough to pull his gaze from the bottle. She briefly considers leaving him to mull over his memories alone, but knows she cannot do that. She knows that she cannot abandon him in such a callous fashion. She remembers his tears, and knows that he is presenting a brave front for her sake.

“I’ve never heard you creak,” she offers. “Perhaps a few pops when you get out of bed, but that can come from injury as much as age. Goodness knows I sound like a dropped pail of stones after a night of sleeping on the ground.”

The tightness eases from his jaw, and he looks at her. The corner of his right eye pinches slightly, and she knows he is thinking over her words. He huffs out a soft breath. “It was much easier to complain about aging to Regula. He did not try to rouse me from my brooding with valid arguments.”

She smiles. “I suppose, should you give me a decade or two, I might get the hang of humoring your moods.”

His cheeks pink, though he has not yet broken the seal on the bottle or taken a sip of its contents. “Ah. Perhaps so.” Varis catches his nail on the edge of the seal and begins to peel open the foil. “I think I might like that, if you were to think it a possibility.”

“Maybe.” 

Varis discards the wrapper on the table and works at the cork. “You’ll drink with me, yes? I mean, for Regula.”

“It would be rude to turn down a nameday drink,” she says. Varis nods, his shoulders sagging slightly with relief as he bends to fill the glasses. He extends one to her, and she nods her thanks as she carefully takes it from him. She tries to ignore the faint tremor in his hand once it is empty, the ghost of melancholy that flutters across his eyes, and the way he lingers longer than necessary over the retrieval of his own glass.

“To Regula,” he whispers, and she echoes the sentiment.

They sit and drink, the only thing permeating and breaking the quiet being the lively music still streaming from the radio.

After the song changes to another upbeat tune, Varis says: “I wanted to listen to the radio now, as I put in an order to have them play music that Regula liked.”

“It’s very cheerful,” she says. “Lively. Not really what I would have expected from the Imperial upper ranks.”

“Our lives may be dour, but that does not mean our entertainment has to be.”

She watches him. “Do you ever go to parties, Varis?”

“Me?” He blinks, pale eyes widening to shift their gaze from the glass to her lips. “I--no, not really. Nothing beyond obligation.” He grumps softly. “Regula always said I was too shy for my own good.”

The Warrior chuckles and takes another sip from her glass. “You, shy? The man whose solution to the issue of ‘this girl is pretty and I wonder what she’s like’ is to have her sedated and imprisoned so that you can see if she might be your type?”

Varis coughs into his glass. “You don’t have to phrase it in such a fashion!”

“Am I wrong, then?” she asks in a teasing tone. Varis grumps again and empties his glass. He stoops to refill it, avoiding her question. “Your silence is a ‘yes’, my dear Emperor.”

“Yes, I am the Emperor. I have appearances to keep up.” He sighs as he closes the bottle. “Regula teased me relentlessly about it, about you.”

“He would still be teasing you about it now, then.”

“Of course.” Varis settles back into the couch cushions with a grunt. “Because, that is what best friends do to each other.”

She smiles. “He meant well.”

“He did.”

They again lapse into the mutual silence of drinking. When her glass is empty, she lets him refill it without protest.

Varis reflects as he watches her bring the rim of the glass to her lips. “When he lived, Regula had three loves. He loved music, both listening and dabbling at playing it himself. And, he loved studying the ancient sword arts of our people…” He trails off and looks into his own glass. She watches him, waits for him to finish his statement, but he doesn’t.

She prompts him. “And the third thing?”

The corner of Varis’ mouth ticks upward ever so slightly. “Me.”

She thinks of what she saw of the man in person, and of the gentle affection that permeated Varis’ memory of the man in her Echo of them. “Yes, most certainly.” She smiles at him. “Well, more’s the pity he is gone. We seemed to have a lot in common.”

The Emperor’s expression falters and begins to crumple, and he turns his face away. “I wish he was here.”

“I dread the day when you no longer wish for his presence,” she says, sincere. His shoulders jerk and he looks at her. Varis’ eyes are wide, and a tear has tracked a course halfway down his cheek. He murmurs her name.

“I don’t understand.”

“He loved you,” she says. “And you loved him.”

“I still love him,” Varis murmurs immediately. He swallows, and she cannot help but exhale half a laugh at his embarrassed expression.

“See, that’s how I know you are a good man, Varis zos Galvus. No matter how fucked your upbringing.” She takes another sip of whiskey. “A bad man would not be able to admit to having so much love in his heart.”

“You are not… bothered by my admission?”

“I would be more concerned were you to act as though Regula meant nothing to you, as though losing him did not nearly break you.”

Varis takes a hurried gulp of his drink. He grimaces against the fire from the glass, and then starts to fill it again. He licks at his lower lip. “I love you.”

“I know.” She holds out her glass, and he tops it off. “And I know that nearly losing me hurt you, too. You love very fiercely, Varis. I admire that.”

“I--you do?”

The Warrior smiles and plucks the glass from his hand. She sets the pair on the table next to the bottle. “I do. Your heart is like a golden blossom that has broken its way through the stone and snow and ice and darkness of this land, but then must still shield itself and hide away its beauty.”

The Emperor does not hide his dumbfounded expression. “You see that in me? Of all the people on this star?”

She nods and traces her thumb over his lower lip. “Your heart is beautiful, just like you.”

He sighs and leans into her caress. “Oh, to be able to see the world as you do.”

She chuckles and replaces her fingers with her mouth. “Always with the whole world. ‘Tis not needed, Varis. All you need is right in this room. Just yourself. And me. That’s all the world you really need.”

His eyes are still wide at her words. “Do you think so?”

She smiles and kisses him. “I know so.”


	22. Chapter 22

After breakfast on a Firesday morning the Emperor sequesters himself away in his study with a large pot of coffee from the kitchens and an even large pile of paperwork. At first the Warrior joins him in the study, sitting on the sofa and quietly paging through a book. This lasts less than a bell before she starts to wonder whether her presence is irritating him, or if the increasingly grating sound of the endless scratch of pen against paper is her imagining. He barely acknowledges her when she rises and announces her intent to go down to the training center.

It is not her first solo venture to the center, though admittedly she prefers to go with the Emperor when possible. There is just something intimately exhilarating about clashing swords with the man until they are both sweaty and breathless. The fact that this is usually followed by a different sort of intimacy back in the Emperor’s quarters is a definite bonus.

All the same, she dresses in her carbonweave gear, a dark tunic thrown over for modesty, and makes the trek down the tangle of corridors until she reaches the training center. The Warrior only turns the wrong way twice, and is rather pleased with herself for having nearly mastered the route on her own.

Inside, the center is not terribly busy, as it is mid-morning and most of the guard is busy at work. The usual attendant is speaking with a man in a centurion’s uniform and another soldier who is out of uniform. The attendant smiles politely at her, and she waits for the centurion to stop talking before moving closer.

“I just wanted to use a room for a bell, if that’s no trouble?” the Warrior says. The attendant nods and holds out their tablet. He gestures at the screen.

“Just punch in your code. You have one now, yes?”

“Yes, thank you.” She holds the tablet away from the others’ line of sight and punches in the sequence of numbers. The numbers make her smile for a moment, as they make her think of Varis. The tablet chimes softly, and she returns it to the attendant. The centurion leans and peers at the screen.

“A code-V clearance level?” He snorts loudly. “She’s no legatus!”

The Warrior doesn’t know exactly what he’s referring to, but finds his attitude immediately vexatious. “Perhaps you should just mind your own business, sir.”

She can hear the centurion sneering behind his helmet. “And why should I listen to you? How does a woman like you even get code-V level clearance? Who’d you have to fuck to get that, savage?”

The Warrior bristles, gritting her teeth as her fingers half curl into fists at her sides. She tries to keep her temper, knowing that if she follows through with her indignation, she might injure someone and forfeit her pardon. Instead, she spits out: “If you have to ask, then you clearly aren’t high enough rank to be privy to the information.” She moves in toward the centurion. “And if I hear you say the word ‘savage’ to or about me again, I will have your jaw broken.”

“Room C, my lady,” the attendant says quickly. 

The centurion is left sputtering as she turns and storms down the side hall.

The Warrior locks herself in the training room. She selects one of the heavy greatswords from the rack of practice weapons. She does not have her job stones with her, but she focuses her angry energy into the blade all the same. The darkness licks at her palms and courses down the blade, and she lets it all out as she goes through the motions of her combat maneuvers. She goes through the training exercises and movements until her body aches and her hands are sore. Her energy ebbs rapidly toward the end, and she tosses the blade aside before losing the strength to hold it at all.

The attendant is alone at their station when she departs.

When she returns from her workout, the Warrior is still irritated with her earlier encounter. Exhausting herself has done little more than make her anger too fatigued to grow. She is not entirely sure why it bothers her so much--countless Imperials have hissed and spit at her and called her a savage before. Perhaps it was the shock of the reminder of the uncertainty regarding her place here in Garlemald. Perhaps it was the man's ruthless rudeness.

Perhaps she is just letting an asshole get under her skin.

Regardless of what it is, exactly, when she returns to the Emperor's suite she is still feeling on edge. She lets herself in and stands outside the study door. It is cracked open, and she can hear Varis humming softly. The Warrior nudges the door open and peers inside. Varis is leaning over his desk, reading glasses on his nose, pen still busily scribbling away at a piece of paper that tops a stack of similar sheets. The radio is on, low, and the Emperor is humming along with the vaguely bombastic tune that is playing.

After a long moment of silent observation, the Warrior realizes that he knows she is standing there. Even though he is still writing, his head has angled a few degrees toward the door. He is deep in his work, and she is disrupting him. She doesn't want to be a bother.

She clears her throat. "I'm going to go take a bath."

Varis just makes a noise of acknowledgement and continues writing.

She strips out of her exercise gear and chucks it into a laundry bin. The water that fills the bathtub is steaming, and it bites at her skin once she stems the flow and dunks herself into its shallows. It feels pleasant enough against her tired muscles, and she allows herself to relax after her recent overexertion. 

In time, she comes back to her senses, unsure if she dozed off during her soak or simply passed out. The Warrior drains the tub and dries off, and after pulling on her dressing gown she returns to the study. Varis is still at his desk, though the room is silent now, and he is peering at a handful of small pieces of paper while draining his coffee cup. Varis looks up at her approach, and flashes her a tired smile.

"Are you alright?" he asks, tone gentle. "You were gone a long while earlier. I had half a mind to come check on you."

"It's fine," she says. "You were busy working. I didn't mind." She does not mention that she is uncertain how much he truly noticed her absence, given how absorbed in his business he was.

The Emperor rumbles pensively, a big hand extending to brush against the sleeve of her robe.

“Dear Warrior, you just spent a bell in the tub, and you’re tense. What vexes you?”

She wants to lie, to tell him that nothing is the matter. She doesn’t want to let the earlier altercation with the centurion bother her. But, it does. The Warrior reaches back, threads her fingers between his.

“I, um.” She flexes her fingers. “What is a ‘code-V level clearance’?”

“Hm?” He tips his head. “It’s an access clearance code, for door locks and command overrides and the like. It’s tied to one’s title.”

The Warrior blinks. “My title? You mean, the Warrior of Light?”

He starts to chuckle but stops, giving her a careful look. She senses that he’s trying not to upset her. “Nay, related to your title here in Garlemald. In the palace, more specifically. For the sake of records, you were given a code name of sorts when you first arrived here.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

The Emperor shrugs and squeezes her hand. “You did not need to know. I like your real name well enough. I enjoy how it… flows off the tongue.”

“You certainly like it in bed,” she notes. “What’s this code name, then?”

Varis hums a bar and stretches his free hand to one of the desk drawers. He retrieves a small notebook with a dark marbled green cover and pulls out a printed card from inside the first page. He does all this without breaking his grasp on her hand, and then rights himself and holds the card out to her. The Warrior takes it, curious now, and looks at the pale blue card paper and precise black letters printed on its surface.

“‘Lux van Umbrus. To be granted all rights and privileges as beseems to Emperor Varis zos Galvus.’” She frowns, as the remainder of the card is a jumble of letters and numbers that she cannot decipher. “What is this?”

“The contents of the card that I gave you before you… last returned to Eorzea.” He looks sheepish for a moment. “In so many words, it says to treat you with the same respect as they would treat me. Or an empress.”

“And, you put that on the card when you sent me away?” It is a puzzling admission on his part, but does explain the reaction of the guard back at Castrum Centri.

He clears his throat. “I did not want them to give you any trouble.”

“Varis…” She is not sure what to say to this. Instead, she chooses to look at the name written on the card. “Lux van Umbrus?”

“If we called you by your true name and title in the records it might cause some level of a commotion.”

She arches a brow. “So you called me ‘Light’ instead? That is a bit lacking in creativity. And subtlety.”

He shrugs again. “‘Tis just a codename.”

The Warrior frowns as she runs her thumb over the relevant line of text. “You can’t just give me the same rank as a legatus, Varis. I’m not even a Garlean.”

He smirks. “I’m the Emperor. I can do almost anything I desire.” He tugs her closer by their joined hands, and murmurs into her ear. “If you’d like, the title is just a placeholder until we might wed.”

Her cheeks burn scarlet as she swats at his chest with the card. “Don’t be so expeditious, Your Radiance.”

“I simply see it as something to look forward to.”

“You’re in a rush,” she says, pulling her hand free and crossing her arms. “We’ve scarcely known each other for two months.”

“Mm, perhaps so, but I certainly know more about you now than I did my first wife. I did not meet her until the day before we were to be married.” The Emperor grimaces and looks at his emptied hand. “That was far more terrifying than any enemy I have faced on the battlefield.”

She watches him for a moment, then smiles and shakes her head. “Are you truly so shy?”

“I’m not shy,” he protests. “I was just... an unwilling participant in the situation.”

“Not so unwilling that you didn’t have sex with a stranger.”

Varis’ cheeks darken, and his mouth works wordlessly for a moment. “Yes, well. I was a healthy nineteen-year old man who was fulfilling his marital duties. So, yes, of course I did.” He curls his fingers into his palm. “And then, after Zenos was conceived, I was sent away to aid in the fighting over some morass in the south. I only returned a few weeks before he was born, and then she died not long after, so… I never really got a chance to know her all that well.”

“Do you miss her?”

He hesitates before shaking his head. “No. I barely knew her. Certainly did not love her. I do not think she liked me at all, beyond the sex and the attached prospect of possibly becoming an empress in the future.”

“So she didn’t mind your closeness with Regula.”

“If she was aware of it, no, I do not think so. If anything, she viewed him as an anchor for me, and little else.” Varis reaches for her, loosening one hand from being tucked under the other arm. “If you say we do not know each other well enough, what would you know of me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t have any questions in mind already.” She looks at her captured hand, and then slowly up to his face. He peers back at her through his glasses. “Um, where did the scar over your eye come from? It seems a lot more deliberate than most of the rest of the ones you wear.”

“Mm.” His eyes flick as though he is trying to look at his own face. “‘Twas some time ago now, here in the palace. An assassin was sent to kill me. They caught me off guard and got the hit in as I moved away. I killed them, of course, though perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hasty. I never learned who sent the assassin--perhaps my uncle, perhaps Solus himself. Perhaps someone else entirely; people were always trying to off my grandfather and his family to get to the throne.”

“I suppose such a high position of power will always attract challengers.”

“It does, yes.” His lips press into a thin line. “There have been other attempts, of course.”

For a moment they are both silent. Then the Emperor turns his head and coughs. He picks up his coffee cup, but sets it back down after bringing it nearly to his lips and finding it empty. He huffs out a low sigh. 

“So, why did you ask about the code?”

“Ah-” She falters, reluctant to dump her insecurities into their personal moment, but still feeling the need to air her grievance. The Warrior decides that it is better to be forthright with the man. She tells him about the negative encounter with the centurion.

Varis is quiet for a moment, then snorts softly in amusement. “Ah, that explains one of the memos I was delivered while you were bathing.” He roots through the pile of missives until he finds a small half-sheet of pale yellow paper. “A complaint that an off-duty centurion was threatened with violence by an unsupervised outsider, but no punishment was possible due to said outsider’s supposed clearance level.”

She huffs. “He called me a savage!”

The Emperor’s expression is carefully blank. “You never get angry if I say the word.”

Another huff. “You never say it in such a demeaning fashion.”

Varis looks thoughtful for a moment before asking: “Why did you not hit him?”

She crosses her arms. “I didn’t want to violate my pardon.”

He chuckles softly. “Ah, I see.” Varis clears his throat. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, your pardon will cease to be of any concern when--if we are wed.” He gently pulls the Warrior into his lap. She removes his glasses and sets them on the pile of papers. 

“What do you mean?”

The Emperor rests his head on her shoulder and hums. “If you marry me, you will add ‘Empress of Garlemald’ to your many other titles. And, as Empress, you would stand tall over nearly everyone in the land, obligated to no pardon, free to mete out justice and judgement as you see fit. To nearly all--” He lifts his face enough for her to see him smile. “Except for me.”

“Ah--” She feels a fresh warmth on her cheeks. “I don’t need all of that.”

“Still, it will be your right and privilege.”

She hesitates. “And if I choose not to raise a fist to the people of Garlemald?”

A strange noise catches in the Emperor’s throat. “Then, you would bestow them with a kindness that no one else to take the throne has cared to give.”

The Warrior strokes a hand over his hand and down his cheek. “Not even you?”

He whispers: “I’ve told you: I don’t know how.”

She kisses his forehead, lips lingering over his third eye. “I meant it when I said I can show you. Varis zos Galvus, you are a strong man. I know you can be both the blade and the bulwark.”

“So you have said,” he murmurs. His fingers toy with the edge of her robe and trace a small pattern on her thigh. “You fight to protect, yes?”

“Mm-hmm.” The Warrior knows that is a gross oversimplification for her duties, but it is also the beginnings of an understanding. “Not to conquer, not to claim…”

“This is an empire. It is built on conquering and claiming.”

She cannot help but sigh. “I know.”

Varis nuzzles at the side of her neck, just below her ear. “I would fight anyone who would try to hurt you, or take you from me.” His fingers still and grip at her thigh. She swallows and covers his hand with her own.

“And, who would do that, Varis? I’m here of my own volition.”

“You know as well as I that there are those who do not think you should be here. That your will is not your own. That you were coerced into returning to Garlemald.”

She whispers: “The only thing that coerced me into coming back here was my heart.” The Warrior pushes him away just enough to sweep in again and kiss him. Varis groans in his throat, fingers squeezing more firmly against her skin.

“Do you really mean that?” he asks in a low rumble.

“Have you any doubts?”

“Concerns, perhaps.”

She kisses him again. “Cast your worries aside, my dear emperor. I do love you.”

His breath catches, then releases gently against her lips. He stares at her, as though waiting for her to recant her words, as she has after previous stumbles.

The Warrior says nothing.

Varis whispers: “Say that again?” There is a tremor in his voice.

She repeats: “I love you.” Something flutters in her breast, and her heart feels strangely light. The Emperor stares at her, and a tear escapes from the corner of his eye. His lips work as though he is trying to speak, but no words issue forth. The Warrior kisses away the tear, and then presses her forehead to his.

“I do not understand,” he finally whispers. “I am overcome with a delight I cannot find words for. And yet I also feel the urge to weep.”

“Happy tears, I should hope.”

He smiles, even as another tear streaks from his eye. “Y-yes, I believe so.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're back. Thank you for your patience. Time for plot! D:

The Warrior is wearing naught but her nameday suit when the maid arrives to clean the Imperial suite. While still groggily pulling on her dressing robe, she knows that it is the maid intruding upon her privacy, as that particular section of the palace staff is one of the few with access to the Emperor’s chambers when he is not present. The low off-key singing in Doman is another hint of the interloper’s identity. The housemaid calls her polite hellos down the hallway and gives the Warrior a knowing look before hurrying on with her cleaning duties. The Warrior puzzles at herself in a mirror while the other woman works, checking herself for any telltale hickeys or other nibbled marks of affection that might have given the woman pause. Aside from a fading bruise on her arm caused during a sparring session two days previous, there is nothing out of the ordinary.

She supposes it could be the simple fact that she is lingering in the Emperor of Garlemald’s private chambers wearing nothing more than a silky dressing gown in a color that nearly matches that of the thick bedcovers. It isn’t really the housemaid’s business what the Emperor was doing between the Warrior’s thighs before he left to go to a meeting that morning, though she does suppose a bath might be in order once the woman leaves.

The maid lingers in the Emperor’s bedroom only long enough to sweep around the rugs, strip the massive bed, and replace it with fresh soft sheets. The woman spends longer in the bathing and sitting rooms, but does not set foot inside the study at all. The Warrior presumes that this is a matter of privacy or security--a snooping maid might cause trouble if she was permitted to spend time unsupervised in the presence of the Emperor’s private desk.

When the maid has departed for the day, the Warrior passes the time puttering around the suite and doing a bit of tidying up herself. She pushes the laundry baskets back to where Varis prefers them, straightens up the study without actually touching his desk, and spends several minutes rearranging the pillows on the bed by their particular softness. She has come to learn which of the pillows the Emperor prefers to use, and which he intends for her usage. The maids always strip the pillowcases and redress the pillows, but never put them back in the right place--something that the Warrior of Light never before considered to be something that she gave half a hoot about until listening to His Radiance grouse about it late one evening. She smiles as she smooths her hands over one of the dark green covers.

Simple little things that will make the big man happy, she thinks.

Once the suite is back to the Emperor’s preferred state of arrangement, the Warrior fills the bathtub and sinks into the warm water. Before long her hand has slipped between her thighs. She thinks about that morning, of how Varis rather resolutely refused to depart for his morning meeting before the Warrior had climaxed. She had been glad he had at least removed his gauntlet before settling into that task, but had eventually insisted that he go on to his Imperial audience when it became obvious to her that he was using her pleasure as a means of avoiding his duties.

It had been worth it, just to see the big man pout at her from that particular position.

After her bath, the Warrior returns to the bedroom. She looks at the armor stands near the dresser--her Imperial armor is waiting on its stand, while the stand for Varis' regalia is empty. She reaches out and runs her fingers over the smooth hardwood and smiles, thinking of how no matter how hastily he might discard the armor in the evening, Varis still always takes the time to put it back into its proper place before bedtime.

Well, most nights at least.

The Warrior pulls on her smallclothes and considers the contents of the wardrobe. She settles on casual attire, as she doesn't particularly feel like leaving the Imperial chambers today. After a lovely morning, she thinks the rest of her free time will be spent reading a book.

She is twenty-three pages into a book detailing some scandal in ancient Allag when her time is disturbed. There is a sharp, precise knock on the door to the suite, followed by the sound of the lock releasing and the door creaking open.

"Lady Warrior?" It is Annia's voice that calls from the entryway. "Are you awake? You are being called for."

The Warrior marks her page and rises from the study sofa. "I'm here. Is something wrong?"

The guard salutes her quickly when she pokes her head out from the study. "Apologies for the disturbance, my Lady, but His Radiance is asking for your presence at a meeting that is currently in progress. He is… in need of his advisor."

"What sort of meeting?"

Annia shakes her head. "I cannot say."

"Oh. I see. Give me a moment to freshen up, and I will accompany you."

"Thank you, my Lady."

Again the Warrior finds herself in front of the wardrobe, considering her clothes. She briefly considers putting on the armor Varis gifted her, but she both doesn't want to make Annia wait too terribly long, and doesn't know if that is the right sort of thing to wear to whatever meeting she is being called to attend.

While changing into a more properly cut top, she is revisited by the memory of the last time she was called to Varis' side when he was working. With a frown, the Warrior pushes that memory aside. After making her hair presentable, she pulls on a pair of boots and then leaves to join Annia in the corridor.

"Will you be guiding me there? I haven’t the slightest idea where Varis is right now.”

"Of course, my Lady."

The Warrior considers the closed door to the Emperor’s chambers. “Should I have worn a coat?”

Annia tips her head forward slightly, and there is a hint of a smile in her voice. “No, my Lady, that will not be necessary. The Emperor is still in the palace.”

“Ah, very good. Lead the way then, Annia.”

They do not make for the throne room, rendering the Warrior puzzled as to their destination. She follows Annia down the halls, grateful for the guidance. The Warrior has not made many ventures to the far side of the palace, to the private meeting rooms where Varis meets with his court and other advisors and discusses the messy business of the Empire. She has no reason to come here alone, and has only seen it once before when Varis had indulged her curiosity over just what was over there. Drab meeting rooms, filled with long black tables and matching leather chairs, some of them overseen by large monitors that were all dark when she had peeked in on them with Varis.

So she wonders now why Annia is leading her to this part of the complex. She knows better than to press again, as Annia will likely still just shake her head and say it is not her business to speak of where ears might hear.

They progress around a corner and into another dark, bluelit corridor. The Warrior slows her step, overcome by an uncomfortable feeling in her bones. There is something in the darkness, she thinks, something that should not be there and yet is, watching her from the shadows between the ceruleum lamps. Her Echo tingles in the back of her thoughts, and she knows she is right. She stops, unnoticed by Annia, and turns around.

The corridor behind them is dark, unnaturally so, as though something has snuffed out the lamps even though she can still plainly see the blue points of light evenly spaced down the black and gold walls. There is something there ten yalms away, formless and imperceptible, naught more than darkness and a pair of gleaming golden lights. Spaced just so, and at a height that made them look like the eyes of a man. She takes a few steps back, but the lights make pursuit. 

“Who--?” The word escapes her before she can mind herself. The lights surge a few yalms closer.

Behind her, the clack of Annia’s boots stops and scuffs as she turns. “Lady Warrior? Is something amiss?”

The Warrior turns and looks to the guard, half flapping a hand in the air at her side. “No, I just--” She looks over her shoulder, but the corridor beyond has returned to its usual dim state, and the oppressive darkness and its occupant have disappeared. The uneasy sensation fades from her body and her Echo goes silent. She swallows and moves to catch up with Annia. “I was just thinking perhaps I should have worn my armor, that’s all.”

The guard nods. “I understand. However, I believe you are suitably dressed as you are.”

“Thank you.”

They stop at one of the meeting rooms. Even as Annia opens the heavy wooden door, the Warrior can hear the murmur of several voices. The air of the room is saturated by the smells of coffee, men’s cologne, and armor oil. There are a dozen or more men, all in some variety of Imperial armor. One stands out by his kit as a legatus, of the First or Second legions most likely, but the Warrior has never met the man before. Towering over all others gathered, the Emperor stands at the end of the room’s long black table. He is staring down at a collection of papers that litter the surface of the table, along with a map of Eorzea that is held down on one corner with a coffee mug. 

Annia announces their arrival, and the men quiet and part to permit their passage to the head of the table. The guard moves to her position standing opposite Julia behind the Emperor. The Warrior stops a respectful distance from the big man and waits to be addressed.

Varis’ expression is stern and unflinchingly serious as he looks down at her. She finds that it does not bother her. She knows that right now he is The Emperor of Garlemald, and not the gentle man she spends her time with in private. She knows that right now his every movement is being scrutinized for weakness and ineptitude by the other men that are gathered. A quick glance at the postures of those gathered is enough to tell her who among them is doubtful of their leader’s capabilities, and who is a faithful follower--or at least very good at pretending that they are. She is quietly relieved that, in passing, the skeptics are greatly outnumbered.

The Warrior gives one of the polite bows she learned while living in Ishgard, as she is not comfortable doing a proper Imperial salute in front of those assembled. She knows she could do it correctly--she’s had practice, and has done it a few times for Varis in private to confirm that she can blend in if necessary--but does not want to ruffle any feathers. Not yet, at least, especially when she is uncertain as to why she has even been called to this meeting.

Varis clears his throat and nods at her. “Thank you for your expedient arrival.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gestures at her before tilting his head to address the rest of the room. “For the record, this is my recently employed advisor, Lady Lux van Umbrus. I do expect that you all know who she is, and I will not tolerate any unkind word regarding her origin. If you have any other concerns, please voice them after this meeting is concluded as nothing you can say is pertinent to the issue at hand.” 

The legatus gives a polite nod in the Warrior’s direction. “If I may speak for the rest of us, Lady van Umbrus’ presence is a welcome one. Given the present circumstances, she may be able to grant us additional insight.”

The Warrior looks at the man, and then to the Emperor. “And, what are the present circumstances, Your Radiance?”

For a long moment Varis was silent, the corners of his mouth downturned more than usual. “We recently received word from our units in Ala Mhigo that Eorzean forces attacked Baelsar’s Wall before dawn this morning.”

The words send a chill down her spine. She has known that the conflict was inevitable, but hearing word of it fills her with concern for the safety of the Scions.

She manages to ask: “And the outcome?”

The Emperor rests his gloved fingertips on a piece of paper that is presently weighted down by a pair of reading glasses. “Moderate losses of our forces on the Wall. Heavy losses amongst the Eorzean colors that were present, although reports indicate that their numbers were not as great as would be expected for a proper assault. Our victory should have been assured, but near the end of the fighting the summoning of a massive eikon led to the commanding officers surrendering control of Castrum Oriens and the Wall. Remaining forces have drawn back and are awaiting orders.”

“An eikon?” the Warrior echoes. “What eikon?”

“We were hoping that you might know,” says one of the officers. She looks at him and frowns.

“I am afraid that, while I am quite experienced in the slaying of primals--of eikons--I am not particularly well versed in their actual form and creation.” She shrugs. “I have been but the sword, and I have yet to meet a sword that knows the finer details of its enemies beyond how to pierce their hides.”

There is a hint of doubt in the voice of the next officer who speaks. “Then, you knew nothing of the Eorzean plans to summon a primal today?”

The Warrior shakes her head. “Even if the Eorzeans were desperate to throw off Imperial forces in order to aid the Ala Mhigans, I daresay they would never stoop to summoning an eikon to do so.” She flashes the men a wry smile. “That is sort of why I had a job at all--Eorzeans were having trouble with eikons being summoned and all. But, in Eorzea most of the summoning of eikons was done by the beastmen tribes.”

The men murmured thoughtfully.

“Do you think a beast tribe was responsible for the summoning?” Varis asks. “In defense of their lands?”

“It’s possible, but from my experience none of the tribes have that sort of aetheric power at their disposal. That close to Gyr Abania, the only tribe you would really run into would be the Slyphs, and they call upon Ramuh. And he was, from my experience, not really the ‘strike first ask questions later’ sort of being. Far more reasonable than some of the others.”

The Emperor looks at one of his advisors. “What of the beast tribes in Gyr Abania?”

A short hyur in thick glasses clears his throat. “Ah, aside from the occasional report of a moogle sighting, the main beastmen of Gyr Abania are the Ananta. As one of their sister tribes has been wise enough to side with us, we are fairly well versed with them. On the whole, I would not think the Ananta interested or capable of summoning anything beyond a representation of their creator goddess.” He chuckled softly. “On the whole, they are a race more interested in maintaining their beauty than, ah, waging war.”

“I see.” The Emperor crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment he looks to the Warrior, and then to the rest of his military advisors. “So, if not the beastmen, then one of the people of Ala Mhigo themselves.”

“It is a possibility, Your Radiance,” the Warrior says. “In Ishgard there were a few instances of eikons being summoned by mortal men, though as far as I am aware it was always playing under the guiding hand of the Ascians.” She thinks of what she recalls of those summonings. “If there were someone in Ala Mhigo desperate enough, then an Ascian could have used that to their advantage.”

There is an uneasy murmur among the men. The Emperor raises a hand to quiet them, his gaze not shifting its focus from the Warrior.

“Then, you believe we are looking at the possibility of Ascian interference?”

“My experience of the last few years tells me that there is always the possibility of the Ascians being involved when there is trouble, Your Radiance. It tends to be their modus operandi.”

“Do you think they had a hand in the assault on the Wall?”

“Were it not for the summoning of the eikon, I would say it unlikely.” She shakes her head. “It is difficult for me to say with any certainty from here, though. If the Scions were present at the confrontation that occurred at Baelsar’s Wall, then they would have a clearer idea of what exactly is going on.”

Varis’ expression is unreadable, even to the Warrior. “And, do you think they would be willing to share this information?”

“In the interest of potentially avoiding a full scale conflict? Of course they would.” She knows that Varis knows a full scale conflict is something neither side can comfortably afford.

The Emperor nods slowly. “Then, you have leave to get into contact with the Scions. Find out what they know of the assault on the Wall, and if they have any knowledge regarding the summoning of the eikon.”

“With all haste, sir.” 

He shifts his attention back to the advisors. “I want all information gathered from the front that we can. Send word to the Legatus that he is not to take any direct actions until the situation has been fully assessed, per my orders. Continue standard operations and defensive maneuvers as necessary.”

“No counterassault, sir?”

The Emperor grimaces. “Not yet, no. I am aware that my esteemed grandsire would have already begun to throw forces at the Eorzeans to grind them under heel. However, I value the lives of our sons and daughters enough to at least formulate a plan before striking back against enemy forces.” He points at the officer who had spoken. “You, your daughter is with the forces stationed at Castrum Centri, yes? And she just gave you your first grandson before her current deployment. Would you rather I have her forces sent to aid the Twelfth in Gyr Abania without any additional information on what the hells is actually going on?”

The man looks uncomfortable. “While I am certain my daughter will serve bravely and make me proud… No, sir.”

“Very well. Get our information, and then we can sic our hounds on those that need their throats torn out.”

“Sir!” The officer salutes.

The Emperor makes a dismissive gesture to the group. “You all have your orders. Get to it.” He looks at her, and she waits until the rest of the room has cleared.

His armor rattles softly as he paces over to the Warrior and presses a leather clad palm to her cheek. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says. She is, physically, though in the back of her mind she yet wonders if the Scions are intact. The Warrior wonders, worries that they suffered because she was not there to fight for them.

“I know you are concerned about the situation,” Varis says, voice low and nearly whispered into her ear. “Get in contact with the Scions. Make sure your friends are safe. And then get the information that we need.”

She blinks, surprised as the softness of his tone. “Yes, of course.”

He presses his lips to her forehead before turning away and retracing his steps back to the head of the table. He gestures to Annia, who moves to escort the Warrior back to the other side of the palace.

She calls: “Your Radiance?”

The Emperor looks at her again.

“I’ll see you at lunch?”

After a moment, the corners of his mouth pinch up in the faintest hint of a smile.

“Of course, my Lady.”


	24. Chapter 24

There is a strange tension in the echoing corridors as the Warrior follows Annia to the private wing of the palace. She does not know if word of the attack has already spread among the guard, or if something else is at play. She has difficulty focusing on the peculiar feeling enough to dwell on its cause. The Warrior's thoughts lapse back to Eorzea, and to the fates of her friends in the Scions. She doesn't know who had gone ahead to focus on efforts potentially aiding Ala Mhigo, and who was behind at the Rising Stones or elsewhere. What happened to them all? Was anyone hurt or--

“Do you need anything, my Lady?” Annia asks the question as they approach the door to the royal chambers. The Warrior stirs out from the miasma of her thoughts and looks at the other woman.

“What?”

“You just looked--” The guard stops and straightens her posture. “Nevermind my question. My apologies.”

“It’s alright, Annia, I just have a heavy business on my mind right now.”

“I understand, my Lady.” She salutes after stopping next to the door. The Warrior enters her door key and turns the handle. A thought occurs to her, and she stops to look at Annia.

“If His Radiance inquires, tell him that I am fine.”

“Of course.” Annia salutes again.

Inside the suite, the Warrior hurries to retrieve her linkpearl. She settles on the couch in the study and fidgets until she is comfortable before placing the familiar communications device in her ear. She takes a moment to steel herself, and then activates her linkpearl.

"Come in, this is the Warrior of Light calling to check on the status of the wild roses. Please come in." She closes her eyes and prays to whatever of the Twelve might be listening in Garlemald. "Please."

For a long moment there is no reply, and then another. The Warrior lifts her hand to her ear, but pauses at a crackle of static.

“---clea---interfer---” For a moment the signal cuts out, then returns after another burst of static. She hears Thancred’s voice, crying out her name in a breathless, exasperated tone. “Seven hells, you’ve picked a fine time to call.”

“I’m sorry, Thancred,” she says. “This isn’t a pleasure call. And it isn’t a coincidental greeting at a bad time. We received word here of the attack on Baelsar’s Wall.”

He heaves a sigh. “Thank the Twelve you did call, though. You have to tell the Emperor this wasn’t our fault! The bloody primal wasn’t our doing!”

“I know it wasn’t, Thancred. Calm yourself, and tell me what happened.”

The line is quiet for a moment. Then: “So you remember what Alphinaud told you about that Ala Mhigan resistance leader, the Griffin? Turns out he was really Ilberd.”

She frowns at the name. “You mean that asshole from the Braves?”

“One and the same. Had his men dress up in the colors of the Grand Companies and lead an attack on the Wall. A bloody slaughter, and done to drag the Eorzean states into the whole mess with the Empire. Said we were going to help Ala Mhigo, whether we liked it or not.”

“Were any of our people hurt?”

There is a pause. “Nothing serious during the attack, no. Just your usual combat scuffs and scrapes.”

The Warrior exhales slowly. “And the primal?”

“Summoned by Ilberd,” Thancred says. “Alphinaud said he went on some mad rant, pulled out Nidhogg’s eyes and then took a dive off the bloody Wall.”

She frowns, half-thinking she misheard her friend. “Wait, you said Nidhogg’s eyes? Where the hells did he get those? We threw them into the abyss!”

“I know, that’s what Alphinaud kept wailing at me. Poor kid’s a mess, because--” Thancred hesitates, and lowers his voice. “It was a desperate situation. There was this gigantic cocoon of light with some unknown terror inside, and there was nothing we could do--”

“What happened, Thancred?” She does not like the anguish that suddenly strains at the man’s voice.

“Papalymo. He used a forbidden magick and sealed the primal in some kind of shielding, but it… It cost him his life. He’s gone.”

The Warrior covers her mouth with a hand and stares at the floor. For a while she says nothing, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know quite how to process Thancred’s statement.

“The situation is as under control as can be hoped for the moment, but none of us know what will happen when that thing breaks out of its containment.”

She manages: “I’m sorry, Thancred. I’m so sorry. I should have been there.”

For a moment he does not reply, then: “Well, that can’t be helped, now.”

“Is Yda--how is she?”

Thancred sighs, resigned. “She’s had a proper scream and wail over it. I think she cracked a rib or two when she kicked me as I was carrying her to safety. But, she’s alive, at least.”

She still is at a loss for words, and again can only say: “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I can do.”

The tension returns to the Scion’s voice. “Just tell the old man what I told you. Buy us some time to see what we can do about the primal.”

“I--yes, of course. He will want to hear my report. The Emperor did not seem especially keen on throwing his people into a full war at the moment. Hopefully we can make some advantage of that.”

The Warrior says her good-byes, with a promise to contact the Scions again if she has any pressing news. She settles back in the couch cushions and closes her eyes. Her thoughts still rattle in their cage, and she struggles to piece together the sequence of events that Thancred related to her. How had everything gone so disastrously wrong? It is beyond her simple understanding. 

She thinks about the dragon’s eyes, and knows that they should have been lost forever to the frozen depths. They were not something mortal man could have reclaimed. If the Ascians are involved with the events in Ala Mhigo, then they might be in greater danger than previously assumed. Should the Ascians plot to throw a wrench into the Ala Mhigan resistance, then Prince Zenos might be the least of their problems. 

She mulls over the facts given, tries to determine how she will present the story to Varis, but her mind keeps tripping over the dead weight of a feeling that lies in the forefront of her thoughts.

She feels like a failure.

The Warrior cannot shake the feeling that she should have been there on the Wall with the others. That she is the Warrior of Light, and that was where she was supposed to have been. Surely she could have done something to stop the summoning, to wrench the Eyes from Ilberd’s traitorous hands, and dispatch justice before finding another frozen abyss in which to lose the cursed things.

But, she was not there. She had been here in Garlemald, safe and warm and oblivious in her lover’s arms.

Some savior of the realm she turned out to be, when she could not even be there when her friends needed her the most. The Warrior is overcome by her shame, and does nothing to stop the flow of tears once they begin. Hers are not loud sobs, but instead are soft coughing cries fueled by her inability to save everyone she cares for.

The Warrior of Light half curls on her side on the sofa, overcome by a wave of loathing that she has not experienced since the one that led her to first picking up a greatsword more than a year ago.

In the darkness beneath her hands, there is no indication of the passage of time. It is only the sound of the chamber door opening that draws her back from the darkest depths of her thoughts. She hears her name called, accompanied by the familiar rattling song of the Emperor’s armor.

There is the soft clank of metal hitting one of the rugs, followed by the creaking of the study door. The Warrior has no real time to react before she has been scooped up into a pair of strong arms and pulled against their owner’s warm chest. The sofa squeaks in protest as he sits and arranges her on his lap. It is all she can manage to do to hide her tear streaked face in her sleeve.

She struggles to stifle her weeping, to apologize, to free him from the unpleasant duty of comforting her. She ends up saying nothing at all, just shaking her head and pressing her forehead against the surface of his tabard. The Emperor has removed his breastplate, and she is aware of a faint hitch in his breath before he speaks.

“Tell me” is his soft-spoken demand.

Her voice catches in her throat when she parts her lips to speak. She shakes her head and sniffles wetly.

Varis murmurs: “I am sorry that you received bad news from the Scions.”

This makes the tears flow afresh, and for several minutes she wets his tabard with her sorrows. The Emperor is silent, his arms a bulwark from the rest of the star.

It takes longer than her pride is comfortable with to cease crying enough to begin speaking.

“I was able to get in contact with the Scions,” she finally says, her voice strained. Varis nods ever so slightly, and she continues, telling him of the Ala Mhigan’s false flag operation.

Varis makes a thoughtful noise. “As though past conflicts should be so readily forgotten in the face of a newer foe.” His hand moves and pets slowly down her back. “The Empire is, of course, a mutual enemy in their eyes. It would stand to reason that the Eorzeans would have eventually supported their cause, but the people of Gyr Abania have long been known as being rather violently argumentative. A trait that Gaius van Baelsar used against them while orchestrating the events that led to their conquering.”

“I’ve known some very nice Ala Mhigans,” she whispers.

“I’m sure you have. Much the same as you have met some nice Garleans, while your homeland would quickly dismiss the whole lot of us as wretched monsters.”

The Warrior of Light lifts a hand and rubs at her eyes. “I don’t feel like arguing.”

“My apologies,” he says with haste. “Go on. Where does the eikon fit into the chain of events?”

She sniffs and clears her throat before continuing. “I don’t know the precise details. I will have to try and speak with Alphinaud when the chance arises. But, the leader of the resistance used a rather foul pair of relics to summon the eikon. But, I have no idea where he got the relics from--only perhaps from an Ascian’s intervention.”

“What could the Ascians hope to gain from stoking the flames of war between Garlemald and Eorzea?” There is a frown in the Emperor’s voice that she can see without actually looking up at him. “I mislike the thought that we are being used as pawns in one of their schemes.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer,” she says.

For a moment they are quiet again, the Emperor’s fingers tracing an abstract line along her back while he mulls over the information.

“None of this is quite something that would bring tears to your eyes.” His hand moves from her back, and his forefinger hooks under her chin and presses with minimal pressure. The Warrior looks up at him. His brow is pinched with concern.

Her breath is unsteady when she lets it out. “One of the Scions sacrificed himself in order to seal the eikon before it had completely formed. With the relics that were used to summon it, I am sure that there was concern it might lead to another Calamity if its summoning went unanswered.” She swallows hard against the tightness in her throat. “And I was not there to prevent any of it from happening.” Again she feels tears burning at her eyes, but the Emperor shakes his head and moves his hand to touch the crown of her head. His fingers comb slowly through mussed strands and brush her hair away from her face. 

“Your friend’s death is not your fault,” Varis murmurs.

“It feels like my fault.” She swallows back the tremor in her voice. “I should have been there. I could have helped, I could have done--something--”

His tone is as gentle as the touch to her scalp. “What could you have done that your allies did not?”

She does not know the answer to his question, so she says nothing. Varis hums softly, fingers gliding through her hair again.

“You said it yourself: you know little of the finer details of the great magicks involved in the creation of an eikon. And I know you to be more finessed in the wielding of a blade than a spell. So, would you having been there done anything to alter the outcome of the battle?”

She frowns. “It should have. I’m the damned Warrior of Light, my being there should have counted for something in the outcome. What good am I if it were not so? What is the point of my powers, my gifts, if my being there did not prevent the death of a comrade?” A tear escapes from her right eye. “What if I am just some cosmic joke? Some awful sham of a hero? I could not save Haurchefant, nor Regula, and I wasn’t even there to try and keep Papalymo from having to die.”

A soft hiss of breath escapes the Emperor at the mention of his friend. “I must tell you, my love, that though we Garleans are not a particularly religious people, there is still something to be said for trusting the machinations of fate. If it is a man’s time to die, then he will die, and there is nothing that can be done to stop that.”

She stares up at him. “I don’t know if I believe that. There has to be something more than that.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Varis’ gaze averts off to the wall, looking for a moment to the chronometer hanging there. “Perhaps… Each of these men were simply answering to their fates. All three sacrificed themselves so that someone else might live, so that the story did not end. It may not have been your duty to save them, dear Warrior, but instead to fight and protect those that were spared by their offerings.”

The words make sense, but offer her little comfort in the moment. “If that is all true, then why do I feel so grieved by their losses? Why do I feel like such a failure?”

To her surprise, a small smile graces the Emperor’s tired mien. “Because, you are a beautiful, caring woman. You weep because you cared, because you loved.”

“Is it that simple?”

“It could be, yes.” The Emperor of Garlemald adjusts his bulk on the sofa and again curls his arms around her. “You taught me that.”

She sighs. “It is not easy, being a beacon of Light to the whole star.”

His embrace intensifies. “Then, let me be the one to support you. I would do it, gladly, until my dying day.”

She considers his words, and the soft sincerity of his tone, and nods. Varis folds himself into the hug and rests his cheek in her hair. His warmth is almost suffocating--a too heavy blanket wound around her on a summer’s day--but she leans into it all the same. She leans into it, into him, into the feeling of absolute peace and security that dwells in his arms. She presses her brow into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his armor.

The Warrior exhales softly. For a moment, the Emperor’s arms tighten, then relax back into their gentle hold.

“Don’t you need to get back to your meeting? Your planning? I am interrupting your work.”

“Nay,” Varis murmurs into her hair. “I am exactly where I need to be right now. I have nowhere else I ought to be.”

She knows that he is just trying to comfort her, but it is working, so she does not press him further.

“Thank you, Varis,” she says. He hums faintly, a lulling sound, and she can feel it through the broad drum of his chest. “I love you.”

The humming stops, and his arms squeeze again. “And I you, my Light.”

For a few minutes they linger in mutual quiet, the Warrior soothed by his presence.

Eventually, Varis whispers into her hair. “I must be honest: I am still glad that you are here and not there. The attack on the Wall and the garrison’s submission will only serve to stoke my son’s need to get out and cause trouble.”

She sighs. “I know. I still wish I had been there.”

“Do you think you would have been better for being there, and still being unable to change the fate of your associate?”

The Warrior considers this. “No, but were I in Eorzea, I could help comfort everyone with their loss. Our loss.”

“Your linkpearl yet functions, my dearest. I am certain they will appreciate your sentiments, even with the distance.”

“It isn’t the same.”

“I know. But, sometimes we must make do with what we have.”

She shifts her weight a bit in his lap. The sadness in Thancred’s voice is still fresh in her memory, and she is not certain that she is ready yet to commiserate with the other Scions. She has no idea what she could even say to Yda. What do you say to someone when they lose their closest friend?

Perhaps nothing, she thinks as she relaxes in Varis’ strong arms. Perhaps sometimes there is nothing that can be said. 

She falls into something not quite nearly a doze in the Emperor’s arms, and he only stirs her from it with the arrival of lunch. They eat in a relatively peaceful quiet. He does not bother her for her thoughts or interrupt her musings with platitudes. He is simply there, and his presence is reassurance enough for her, for the time being. If she focuses on him, she can keep her other worries at bay.

When their meal concludes, the Emperor strides down the hall to his bedroom and strips out of his armor. The Warrior stands in the doorway, watching him, unable to shake the pall of unease as she watches him undress down to his carbonweave.

He turns to her, a hand outstretched.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

Varis steps closer, pressing his palm to her cheek. “I am taking a respite until my next meeting, later this afternoon. And I want you to accompany me.”

The Warrior hesitates even as she presses herself into the warmth of his touch. “But, surely you must need to be getting back to your duties?”

For a moment the Emperor frowns. “You keep asking me that. Is your contrition so great that you cannot enjoy any time with me?”

“I just feel like my presence is intruding upon something, that you should be doing something more important.”

“If it is, I do not care.” He traces the rough pad of his thumb over the line of her cheekbone. “Your well being is just as paramount to me as that of the rest of the Empire.”

Gingerly, she whispers: “Why?”

The frown fades from his countenance. “Because, I love you. You are my Light. When I look at you, I see my future. I see before me the Empress of Garlemald. I see hope.” His cheeks color and he looks down. “I must admit: I am still not used to looking forward and seeing good things, or even daring to dream of them.”

Her stomach pinches at his sincerity. “I--I do not deserve such high praises. How can you pile your hopes on someone like me?”

Varis glances up at her, eyes widening. “How could I not?”

“Because, I’m a failure as a hero. I can’t even--even--” Her voice catches in her throat.

“Being the hero does not mean that you can save everyone all of the time.” He cups her face in his big hands. “Your friend’s death is not your fault, my love.”

She blinks back fresh tears. “I don’t know how to convince myself of that.”

Varis leans in, pressing his forehead to hers. “And neither do I. But, I will be here to remind you as much as you need.” He exhales in a faint sigh. “And I am sorry. I know I should not put the weight of hope on your shoulders. I know it is not something you ever asked for, not from Garlemald or Eorzea.”

The earnestness of his tone gives the Warrior pause. She lifts her hands and covers his as they cradle her face. Something in her heart stirs.

“Oh, Varis,” she whispers. “It is a burden I would gladly bear, with you at my side.”


	25. Chapter 25

On a quiet Darksday morning, the Warrior takes a long bath while the Emperor is busy in his study reading through reports from Gyr Abania. She lingers until the water starts to cool a second time, thinking that hopefully this is a long enough amount of time to leave her partner alone. She wraps herself in a thick towel and carefully pads across the tiled floor.

Steam billows out into the cool hallway as she cracks open the door. She calls: “Varis? Is everything alright?”

There is a faint murmur in an assenting tone from the direction of the study. Deciding that he will be well enough left alone for a bit longer, the Warrior returns to the bedroom. She pulls on a pair of soft warm woolen pants and her dressing gown. Her armor catches her eye, sitting neatly arranged on its stand next to the Emperor’s. She thinks the two sets of armor make an attractive pair. The Warrior brushes her fingers over each piece of her gear, making sure she did not miss any spots in cleaning it after her venture out to the training center earlier in the morning. She does not want neglect to make Varis think she does not appreciate his gift. And cleaning each piece of the set helped pass the time earlier when the Emperor was busy frowning through his glasses at the papers spread before him.

The sound of slippers scuffing their way along a dark green runner meets her ears, followed by a soft grunt and the popping sounds that accompany the big man stretching. Varis stops and leans in the doorway, arms spread to brace against the frame.

“Done already?” she asks.

“The rest of it can wait until after lunch,” he says. Varis flexes his weight against the wood and she is half surprised that she doesn’t hear it crack in protest. The Emperor sighs and scrubs his fingertips against his scalp. “I read through everything regarding the most recent updates from Gyr Abania.”

“Ah.” She has not spoken with the Scions in a few days, and neither have they made any efforts to contact her. “And was there anything interesting?”

“A half dozen rather theatrical complaints from my son-- from the looks of it dictated to the one scribe he hasn’t killed off yet." Varis gives a little sniff. “Wants to send forces to move against the Eorzeans and Ala Mhigans that have set up shop in Castrum Oriens, as he finds it offensive that he is forced to sit idly on his throne as I have forbidden him from marching into the Shroud or anywhere else of interest.”

“Do others share his sentiments?”

“From what I can discern it is only those that are doing their damnedest to stay on Zenos’ good side.”

She flashes a conciliatory smile. “Does he have a good side?”

“I want to believe that he could have one,” Varis says. He sighs again and lowers his arms. “He is a very clever, intelligent man, but I am afraid that appeals to his intellect ceased to appease him a long time ago.”

Intellect paired with a powerful body and a taste for violence is a dangerous combination, the Warrior muses. She watches as Varis ambles over to the windows. He peels back the heavy fabric of one of the curtains and squints at the brilliant blue-white streak of light that comes through the exposed glass.

“What do you think he thinks of us?” She chews on her lower lip for a moment. “I mean, his father and the Warrior of Light being… romantically involved.”

“I know what he thinks,” Varis murmurs. “He wasted no time in voicing that opinion when he was last here in the palace. After your little run-in with the boy.”

“And, what did Zenos think?”

The cold surface of the glass fogs with his breath. “That I was naught but a lonely fool. That you were just biding your time and waiting for the right moment to bring a knife to my throat.”

It is an unfortunately fair assessment, she thinks.

“If you are indeed an assassin, my dear, you are patient to a fault.” Varis turns his head away from the window, enough that she can see the corner of his lips pulled into a smile. “For you have had endless and ample opportunities over the last few months.”

“Do you ever worry that you might be wrong about me?” The Warrior taps a nail on the faceplate of her helmet. “I could make it look like an accident at the training center. Or when you are shaving.”

The smile does not fade as he pensively rumbles. “Hmm. I hadn’t considered in the training center. Too many eyes, unless you had set up some sort of method of teleporting away.”

“Do you often still worry about whether or not I might try to kill you?”

Varis shakes his head and returns his gaze to the blurry patch of blue sky visible through the window. “No, not in a long time. When we were first together, yes, certainly. I knew what I was doing was terrifically risky.”

“But, you did it anyway.”

“I did. I believe it to have been worth the risk. Wouldn’t you say the same?”

"I would think so, yes." The Warrior moves closer to where her lover stands. "The only truly foolish thing I've known you to do in the last few months is to send me away."

"A mistake that I shant repeat." Varis lets the curtain fall back into place and turns to face her. His lips pinch into a thin line before relaxing. "And, if I try to, you have my advanced permission to disobey me."

"I'll keep that in mind, Your Radiance."

He smiles and raises a hand to rub at the stubble on his chin. His eyes squint half closed, pensive, and Varis seems to stare at the top of her head for a long moment before he speaks again.

“Have you heard of the blue months?”

The change of subject catches the Warrior off guard. She considers the question and shakes her head when she comes up with no answer. “No. Is that something I need to know about?”

“To some degree.” Varis looks to the curtained windows. “Staying inside so much, you might not notice the change. Not right away, at the least.” He scratches at his side. “I believe outside of Garlemald they are sometimes referred to as the ‘dark months’.”

“Oh.” That stirs some old bit of gossip from her memories. “You mean when the sun doesn’t come up?”

He smiles. “I assure you that it is not as dark and dismal as outside reports might make it out to be.” Varis hums softly. “But, yes, there is a period during the winter months when the sun struggles in rising to a visible point in the sky, and so the… already brief spans of daylight are cast in a color more appropriate to those last moments of twilight.”

“Sounds a little dreary.”

“To some I am sure it is. The blue months have never bothered me a great deal. It’s only any real trouble on days when there are snowstorms. Then you might as well be trying to make your way in the dead of night.”

“I see.” The Warrior sidles up behind him and rests a hand on his hip. “And, why do you ask me this now?”

“Because, my dear, we are nearing the end of autumn here in Garlemald, and the winter months will soon be upon us.” Varis smiles down at her. “I am sure you hadn’t noticed, as you tend to spend most of your time indoors here.”

She huffs. “I’m not afraid of going out. There’s just… The city just seems more a military outpost than a place where people live. So, there isn’t much reason for me to go out alone, you know?” She pokes his hip. “Besides, I can scarcely go to the training center without getting into trouble; I’m certain me going out into the city would be worse.”

He hums again. “Someday, everyone in the city will be very happy to see you.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” Varis takes her hand and brings it to his lips. She smiles.

“You’re in a good mood all of the sudden.”

The Emperor’s breath ghosts warmly against her skin. “Perhaps I am.” His thumb traces a line across her knuckles. "At the end of autumn there is a grand gala held to honor the coming of the blue months. Quite the festivities, if I do say so myself."

This is the first time the Warrior has heard of such business, and it immediately piques her interest. “You mean like a ball?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, no dancing. It is more a large dinner where everyone drinks and is merry, and we watch a little pageant put on that depicts the discovery of ceruleum and how it helped the first Garleans survive the long dark unforgiving nights of our land.”

The Warrior frowns at the prospect of such levity. “Is now really the right time to be having such an event? The shadow of war is yet creeping on the horizon.”

Varis stares at her for a moment. Then he gives a single, sharp nod. “Now is the best time, my dear. Garlemald is a nation always fighting, always readying for the next battle. It is events like these that help bring a sense of hope and security to the people.”

She does not bother pointing out the fact that simply not constantly going to war for glorious conquest would also give the people a sense of peace and hope. They have had that discussion enough times already, and she has yet to come up with an argument that will get the Emperor to budge. She is, as Alphinaud would be quick to tactlessly point out, not a diplomat.

Still, the Warrior finds herself glad that the Garleans can still enjoy a holiday celebration like the rest of the star, even if theirs are not the same as those she has experienced in Eorzea.

“Fair enough. When is the gala to be held?”

“Traditionally the Long Night ceremonies are held on the full moon that falls closest to the beginning of the winter months.”

“Ah. Better then, than a few days later.”

Varis chuckles. “I would hate for you to miss out on cake and wine because you were in too much pain to put on a dress and smile for the people.”

“A dress?” She looks to the cabinet where her clothing is stored. “Will I need a new one?”

“I do not think so.”

“Should I wear the green dress, then?” She grins at the embarrassed croak that escapes from the Emperor.

“No, no, I don’t need to be that distracted when I’m supposed to be making face with the dignitaries of the Empire.” Varis looks away and fidgets his fingers in the end of his hair. “You do not have to attend, of course, but as the Emperor I am somewhat obliged to do so.”

Despite a few covered forays out into the closer parts of the city, and also being now somewhat well known among the staff at the palace, the Warrior has never had any real public appearances in Garlemald. To the people of the Empire, she is nothing more than a bored rumor, and probably even less than that to people who do not regularly come into contact with palace staff or the locally stationed legions. Varis has never pushed to put her into the public eye, and so the Warrior cannot help but wonder about this sudden change.

“Are you certain that you are ready to make me… to make our relationship a matter of public knowledge?” She reaches and pulls the long strands of pale hair free from his fingers. Varis tenses for a moment, and then relaxes. 

“As though you were something better kept secret.” He fixes her with a doting smile and recaptures her hand in his own. "To be quite honest, if you are introduced simply as 'Lady Lux', most of the people in attendance would not even think to associate you as being the Warrior of Light."

She knows that he is right. Without her heroic label, most will merely view her as a curiosity. Most have likely come to perceive their leader as a widower and perpetual bachelor. Him attending a public event with a mysterious woman is enough to cause a stir on its own.

"Well," she says after this consideration. "Who would you prefer to present me as?"

For the span of several breaths, Varis does not move. Then, without relenting in his grasp on her hand, he shifts his weight downward. The Warrior is surprised by the limber ease with which Varis drops to his knees before her. He bows his head, long hair cascading over his shoulder and exposing the pale lines of his neck just above the deep green collar of his shirt.

“I would much more happily attend the festivities...with you as my intended.”

It takes a long moment of staring at the smooth marble of his skin before the Warrior realizes what he has said. It is something that she has been half expecting him to ask for a time now, and so she has quietly considered how she might answer his proposal. She has already imagined the surprised, scandalized whispers and hushed accusations that her response might birth. 

The Warrior has already made her decision, but the sight of the Emperor of Garlemald kneeling before her, laid bare to her decision--it still sends an unexpected shock of delight down her spine.

“Oh, Varis.” She extends her hand and traces her fingers lightly over the back of his neck. A shiver courses through the flesh beneath her fingertips, but the man does not otherwise move. “Are you certain? Do you really mean to ask me this?”

“I am and I do.” He swallows. “We do not have to be wed any time soon, but it would bring me a great comfort...especially if something were to happen to one of us.”

He is talking about falling in combat, she thinks. Even now, the Emperor cannot escape his concerns over the ongoing specter of war.

“Who am I to deny the man I care for some onze of comfort?”

Varis’ body tenses beneath her hand. “It is your will, your life. Not mine to demand or take.”

The Warrior withdraws her hand. “Lift your face and look at me, Varis zos Galvus. I would have you ask me as you wish to, and not with such stuffy formality.”

The Emperor shifts his weight back on his heels and looks up at her. His brows are drawn together in an apprehensive row. Her name falls reverently from his lips. “Marry me. That is all I ask of you.”

She touches his chin, and wonders if he can feel how hard her heart is pounding. “I would answer your proposition, if you would permit me to ask one of my own.”

“Of course.”

“Varis, will you be my husband?”

His eyes widen. “Y-you would ask that of the Emperor?”

She smiles. “Is it the Emperor who asks for my hand, or the sweet and noble gentleman who kneels before me?”

Varis swallows. “It is just I.”

“Then, it is you who I ask.”

His breath trembles as it escapes him. “Yes, I will be your husband.”

Her smile widens. “Then, yes, I will be your wife.”

For a moment Varis is silent and still. Then he whispers: “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for doing something that I want to do, Varis.”

“All the same.” He rises smoothly to his feet and helps her up. “I do not know what else to say.”

“Um, well.” She considers their options. “I’ve never been affianced before, to be honest.” The Warrior smiles when he clears his throat.

“I have, but as you know, that was an entirely different situation. I’ve never had the pleasure of doing this with someone who I already know and love.”

She tips her head to the side. “How about a kiss, then?”

He does so, carefully cradling her head in his hand. It is simple and sweet, but when they part a soft noise of discontent escapes from the Emperor.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just--” Varis frowns, eyes focused on her lips. “I expected it to feel different.”

She smiles and tries not to laugh. “It’s not some kind of magick, just an agreement.”

“I suppose so.”

The Warrior wonders if there is anything different with the engagement of an Emperor versus one of the smallfolk. Varis hums thoughtfully and sits on the edge of the big bed. He tugs her into his lap, a hand moving to stroke through her hair once she has made herself comfortable.

“I do not believe either of us have any sort of immediate family that can be notified. There will be, of course, an announcement to the public…”

“That happens in any place with wealthy families,” the Warrior says. Varis nods. “And I don’t suppose you need any sort of dowry.”

He chuckles, and she smiles at the rumble against her side. “No, that will not be necessary. Though other affluent houses in Garlemald do engage in that practice, I believe we can let that slide.”

“Oh, that’s good. I don’t really have much in the way of finances to contribute to the household.”

Varis’ chuckle turns into laughter, and his arms circle around her and squeeze her sides. “You are more than contribution enough, I promise.”

“It’s a pity I don’t really have anyone to tell about this. I mean, I’ll have to tell the Scions eventually, but I think right now their minds are on other matters. I don’t need to make anyone cross with the suggestion that their struggles weren’t meritorious enough of my thoughts.”

Another thoughtful hum rumbles in his chest. “I know they are on the payroll, but Julia and Annia do seem to like you. You could tell them?”

“We could tell them,” she corrects. His cheeks flush for a moment.

“We.” Varis licks his lips. “Yes, then we should make it proper and respectable, then.” He keeps an arm looped around her middle as he tips slightly to the side. From the pocket of his trousers he retrieves a small pouch of dark red leather. The imperial insignia is embossed on its surface. He opens the bag. “I am fairly certain the custom of exchanging rings of promise exists in Eorzea as well. To some degree.”

Two bands of metal fall into the Emperor’s open palm, one noticeably larger than the other. They are made of a black metal, the surface of each band polished to a gleaming finish. He presses the larger ring into her palm. 

“I, um--” He clears his throat, and she cannot help but smile at the fluster in his voice. “I give you yours, and you give me mine. I think that is how the process goes.”

The metal is warm against her skin, still carrying Varis’ body heat within its endless curve. The ring fits neatly on the third finger of her left hand, over the line that feeds the heart. Her smile broadens at the thought of Varis covertly trying to get her finger's measurement.

"It's lovely," she says.

"Just like you."

Varis kisses her again, the motion hungrier than before, and his tongue gives a demanding flick against her lower lip. His hands engulf her shoulders before moving to part the front of her dressing gown. She inhales reflexively as his rough skin caresses the smooth curve of her breast.

"What about lunch?" She barely manages to gasp out the words as his thumb brushes against her nipple.

"We have plenty of time before mid-day," Varis says. "And right now, I am far more hungry for you."


	26. Chapter 26

Were she pressed to do so, the Warrior of Light would find it difficult to explain to her self of only a year earlier how she had ended up where she presently was in her life. She is not entirely certain of it herself--how does one exactly parse out how they fell in love? She knows she did, knows she is, and that is about as deep into the thought process that her giddy brain is currently capable of delving.

It is difficult to think beyond those simple terms when the object of her affection is busy mouthing a very wet path down the valley between her breasts. One big hand has slipped under the silk of her robe to support her back, while the other cups the span of her ribs and rounded flesh, its thumb idly rolling the firm peak of a nipple. The left is at her back; it is there that she can feel the smooth line of the ring on his third finger.

She likes the feel of it--the manifestation of their promise.

His lips press her name into her skin, a vow that if she ever forgets who she is, he will be there to remind her. She is his love--the warmth in his heart and the sun in his sky. His love, his love, his love--

She bursts out into breathless, trembling giggles as his lips tease at her upper abdomen. He smiles against her and murmurs her name again before applying a kiss to her skin. She trembles and laughs, hooks her fingers in his long hair, and cries out his own name with a soft reverence.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

His lips linger there, perhaps recommitting the soft skin and fine hair to his memory.

"I want…" Varis starts, but his voice is swiftly drowned out by his uncertainty. "I wish for another chance. A chance to be a better father; to have an heir that is… is loved. Someday." He swallows. "Though that is a choice entirely up to you. I shant force you."

The ring is nearly heavy on her finger as she considers his words. "In truth, I hadn't given thought to having children. I mean, before I met you. But… Someday."

There is a flash of cool against her belly as he sharply inhales.

Varis whispers: "Thank you."

"But, you must promise me that, should a chance show itself, you do not give up all hope on the child you already have."

He muffles his protest with her skin, and her fingers curl into a fist and tug reproachfully at his hair.

"Varis."

"You are far too optimistic," he says. "But, I will try, should there ever be a chance."

She relaxes her grip. "Good."

His fingers play at the waistband of her woolen pants. “Now, if you would permit me my indulgence…”

Without a word, she lifts her hips as he eases down the soft fabric. 

The sound of knocking on the main suite door barely registers in the Warrior’s mind. She only recognizes the second round of knocking because of Varis’ breath huffing in irritation over her sensitive skin. He shifts his weight back and rises to his feet.

“And so I must trade one repast for a lesser one,” he says, tongue extending to swipe over his lower lip. Her cheeks are already too flushed to blush at him, and she lazily draws her knees together.

“Shouldn’t you at least wash your face before answering that?”

Varis wipes a bit of her slick from the corner of his mouth. “I see no reason to. Feel free to freshen up if you feel the need.”

She laughs as he pats her knee and heads out of the bedroom. Her legs wobble like those of a newly hatched chocobo as she slides off the side of the bed and rises to her feet. 

“You had better plan on finishing what you started later,” she chides playfully upon joining the Emperor in the sitting room.

“I thought I might be more spontaneous than that,” Varis quips.

As she enters the sitting room, he turns from the table and approaches her. She squeals with a mixture of delight and surprise as he catches her in his massive arms and scoops her off her feet.

“Varis!”

“You looked a bit unsteady on your feet, my dear,” he says with a playful smirk. She tastes herself on his lips when he kisses her.

“I have you to thank for that.” She grips his shoulder for balance as he moves to the sofa. Varis’ eyes squint happily as he smiles down at her.

“You know, I believe I am starting to understand why Eorzea is so desperately attached to you.” He hums softly, and she snuggles against the pleasant feeling as it passes between them. “The hope that you inspire is quite the addictive thing.”

The Warrior touches his chin with her forefinger. “I like to think that the hope is already there. I just give people the strength to see it for themselves.”

His brows lift. “Perhaps so. Still, I feel quite hopeful right now.”

“Oh?” She relaxes into the cushions as Varis carefully settles her onto her usual spot on the sofa. “And what sort of hope are you feeling?”

“For you. For me. For the future…” He keeps hold of her left hand as he settles into his armchair. “Ours, that of this nation, and of the whole star.” Varis swallows and tracks his thumb over her knuckles. “I still honestly am not certain how to approach the matter with Eorzea, but with you here I feel quite assured that I will be able to make the right decision.”

“For the Empire, or for Eorzea?”

“For everyone.” His thumb pauses over the black band. “You help me see, help me understand, that there is more to the picture than that which my grandfather poured down my throat in my youth.”

“Gyr Abania, then,” she says after a moment of thought. “It’s Gyr Abania that you don’t know how to handle.”

“Indeed.” Varis sighs and lightly squeezes her hand. “But, that is not a proper subject for right now. Certainly not for our first meal together as…” He clears his throat. “You know.”

She smiles. “I know.”

After lunch, the Emperor expresses his regrets and retreats back to the loneliness of his duties in the study. The Warrior, keen to give him his necessary quiet again for at least a little while, grabs a small leather bag from within her pack and heads out into the palace. The hallway immediately beyond the door is empty, as the Emperor has given his bodyguards the day off. Further down the long hallway are the standard guards, and they all either politely nod or salute when she passes. 

What will it be like to walk these halls when she is the Empress? The question occurs to her as she follows a meandering path through the bluelit halls. She has no guards now--as the Warrior of Light such a thing would be an insult to suggest--but what of then? Will someone insist that the Empress needs to be followed around for her own safety? She isn’t certain she likes that idea. At the least, she does not believe that she would require a bodyguard while within the palace walls. Outside, out in the city and beyond, another yet of eyes would be a welcome aid.

She recalls a conversation she had once with Thancred while drinking after his return from a bout of spying. If the ruler of a nation was male, the wife would always be a liability. The wife was a weakness, a chink in the armor, and a way to hurt the leader. For without the wife, there was no heir, no family, no home. Nothing to keep a man sensible. Thancred, after his second ale, had been quite adamant that if a man was being particularly troublesome, one just had to wait until his wife was with child and threaten her to get the man to cooperate. The Warrior frowns at this memory, her hand instinctively moving to her belly. She does not like these thoughts. A woman being pregnant is a dangerous enough venture without any political or military machinations getting involved. It is something she and Varis will have to discuss, and she adds the item to her ever lengthening mental list of such things.

Her stroll through the corridors brings her to a location relatively near to the palace's training center. There is an unremarkable door with a simple engraved sign that only reads 'Alchemical Distributions'. The Warrior has been here a few times now, though previous visits have seen her accompanied by either Varis or one of his personal guards. Annia and Julia had been the ones to first bring her to the place, casually threatening bodily harm to the old man working there if he did not provide her with the same level of service as he did the Emperor.

She knocks on the heavy wood before pushing the door open. Beyond is a somewhat cramped room, its walls covered in a mixture of Imperial propaganda and alchemical charts that remind her of the ones she saw back in Ul’dah. There is a long counter, its surface covered in a pale slab of polished marble, and the space beyond is filled with cabinets and shelves housing a variety of bottles and pouches and ornate boxes. A man in a white coat is standing behind the counter, jotting something down in an open book, but he looks up at her arrival.

“Ah, Lady Lux. You are looking well this fine afternoon.” The court alchemist--an aging Garlean left over from Emperor Solus’ generation--peers at her through his spectacles. “Come to pick up your supplies for next week already?”

“Well, I don’t want to get so distracted by the holiday coming up that I forget to stock up on the necessities.” She leans against the counter. “And, His Radiance is working from his study today, so I thought I would give him a bit of quiet.”

“As only you can,” the man murmurs. He retrieves a glass jar and places it on the countertop. “Is there anything else you might need, my Lady?”

The Warrior considers for a moment, and then grins. “More contraceptives.”

The old man chuckles and goes over to a heavy wooden cabinet. “I will see what I have available.” He murmurs to himself as he searches the contents of the cabinet, and returns to the counter after retrieving an ornate wooden box. “I must admit, I do still find it peculiar that a woman of your standing insists on coming here and collecting your medictives yourself.” The alchemist uses a silvered pair of tweezers to count out capsules onto a scale.

“I suppose I’m just used to having to do everything on my own,” she says. “I don’t see the point in having someone else fetch something for me if I am capable of doing it myself.”

The man chuckles again. “Then you are just as stubbornly self-reliant as His Radiance. You’re a regular pair of jade peas in a pod.”

She nearly frowns at his words, as she is uncertain whether or not there is malice to them. “What do you mean?”

“When Lord Varis took the throne, he had half of the palace servants either dismissed or reassigned elsewhere. Emperor Solus, may his soul be at rest, had a servant for everything. One to brush his hair, one to brush his beard, three to help him dress, two to taste his food, a set of pretty little twins from the southern coast to keep his bed warm…” The alchemist shakes his head. “Emperor Varis had no interest in all of that frivolity and pared the staff down to only its necessary components. An action of noble fortitude, though sometimes I must admit I do miss seeing the little dancing girls running about in the evening.” The Warrior laughs at the old man’s wistful sigh.

“If you’re that fond of dancing girls, perhaps you should take a holiday in Eorzea. It’s overrun with them.”

“So I’ve heard.” The alchemist’s lips curl into a rueful smile as he pours the collection of capsules into a silk pouch. “Were we on better terms with the Eorzean states, I would be more than happy to retire at a place called ‘Costa del Sol’. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but I’ve heard plenty of tales of the warm weather and attractive dancers.”

She smiles as she accepts her order and tucks the bottle and pouch into her leather satchel. “I will see what I can do for you.”

The alchemist laughs. “You are too kind, my Lady.”

The royal chambers are quiet when she returns, though this is no surprise to the Warrior. She puts her medicines away in the bathing room, switches her shoes for slippers, and makes her way back to the study. Before disturbing him, she returns to the sitting room and retrieves the metal carafe of coffee that was delivered with lunch. She fills a mug and takes it with her.

The Warrior nudges the study door open with her shoulder. Varis is seated at his desk, elbow resting on the hardwood and his palm supporting his cheek as he stares through his reading glasses at a sheaf of paper.

“You alright?” she calls softly. His body jerks in response, and he owlishly blinks his golden eyes as he looks over his shoulder. Varis sighs through a thin smile.

“Mm, yes. Just reports from the east. Things about Doma.” His gaze flicks to the mug in her hands, and she holds it out to him.

“Thought you could maybe use a refresh,” she says. Varis murmurs thankfully, carefully transferring the mug first into his left hand, then his right. He takes a sip.

“Indeed.” Another sip. “Though I do care about the business of the Empire, my mind keeps wandering.”

“To?”

His lips pull into a smile against the edge of his mug. “You.”

The Warrior snorts a laugh and shakes her head. “And I thought I was helping you by leaving you alone. Are you telling me that you would get more work done were I to just sit here on the couch and silently read some ponderous tome from the library?”

“I think I might do better for the company.” The chair creaks as Varis leans back. “Perhaps having the source of my distraction with me will cause less of a distraction.”

She smiles, watching him take a gulp of coffee. “Close but not too close, hm? In your lap I would be a thorough distraction.”

“A welcome and thorough distraction, yes.” Varis sets his half empty mug down and adjusts his glasses. “I am certain that the new leadership of Doma would not object to waiting another week for my reply to their missives if they knew the cause for the delay.”

The Warrior laughs. “‘To whom it may concern: many apologies for the delay, kept stopping to admire my beloved’s bosom’.”

He clears his throat, and she catches a fresh pink stain on his cheek. “I would find a more decorous way of phrasing things.”

“Of course you would. I’m sure your education included training in such delicate political matters.”

Varis’ eyelashes flutter, and for a moment his face pinches into an exaggerated frown. He looks to his abandoned paperwork. “Decorum, yes, but dealing with politics, not quite so much. My grandsire’s position on politics was just to find a way to destroy anyone he could not charm or deceive into siding with the Empire.”

“How many nations voluntarily joined the Empire?”

A grunt. “Not many.”

She has assumed as much, but chose not to voice that point. Instead, she stands behind his oversized chair and drapes her arms over the back so that her hands rest on his upper arms. “Why don’t you get back to work, and I will accompany you while you read. If something pricks at your thoughts, you can share it with me rather than having it slow you down.”

Varis covers one of her hands with his own. “Fair enough. I hope you don’t get bored.”

“If I do, I’ll just distract you again.”

He chuckles and settles back into his reading. To her own credit, the Warrior lasts through about ten minutes of trying to read over his shoulder before she bores with the task and begins to play with his hair. The Emperor does not seem to mind this contact, as he continues slowly paging through the report before him as she repeatedly braids and then untangles strands of his hair. The Warrior has lost the narrative of whatever the newly appointed leadership of Doma was complaining about by the time he has read through the remaining half dozen pages. 

“I want to weave flowers in your hair,” she says. This earns a curious hum from her partner.

“Do you?”

“I do.” She drags her fingers down the length of a pale lock of hair. “It would be a crown befitting a man of your beauty and stature.”

The Warrior cannot help but smile at the embarrassed noise that escapes her lover.

"I am not…" Varis trails off. "What sort of flower, then, do you suppose?"

"Something purple, I should think. Or perhaps blue."

"You like blue best," he says. She smiles.

"And how did you deduce that, my love?"

"Mm. The teacup you always choose from the ones available has blue trim. And your preference shows the most among your own personal belongings. The items that you brought with you from Eorzea--the accents on your pack, the handle of your hairbrush, the jewelry that you keep but don’t wear...and a great deal of your smallclothes. All blue, of varying shades."

"How very clever of you."

Varis scoffs lowly. "'Twas but a straightforward observation."

She is pleased that he has noticed. “I’ve come to appreciate the color green, as well.”

He tutts: “Simple over-exposure”, but she can tell that he is pleased.

“Well, perhaps the next time you have the tailor craft something for me to wear, it can be something blue.”

“Hm. What if I have something made for you in green, and for myself in blue? Then we could mutually enjoy the colors.”

She presses a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s equally clever, my dear Emperor.”

The next day is business as usual, and in the morning Varis dresses in his full armor and heads off to deal with Garlemald’s problems. He returns at the mid-day, only Annia in tow.

While she sits with him and eats lunch, the Warrior asks: “Have you told anyone yet?”

“Of our engagement? No, not yet.” Varis makes a face and gestures with his fork. “No one I met with this morning was deserving of good news from me.”

“Aren’t you bursting to tell someone?”

“I will in time.” He continues to mush a small pile of mashed potatoes into a more orderly mound. “I am not entirely certain how things these are announced for persons of great status.”

“Do you think I could tell your guards? Before you leave for the afternoon, I mean.”

The Emperor hums around his mouthful of food before nodding.

When lunch is complete, the Warrior slips out into the hallway. Annia is standing in her usual spot, arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the wall. Julia is still not present.

“Ah, there you are. Where is Julia?”

Annia tips her head forward, and the blue glow of the hall lights gleam along her faceplate as she corrects her posture. "Is something amiss, my lady? Are you ill?"

The Warrior smiles. "No, fortunately I am feeling quite whole and hale. There is something I wanted to tell you and Julia, though. An announcement, of sorts."

The guard shifts on her feet. "You are not leaving again, are you?"

She blinks and shakes her head with a soft laugh. "What? No, of course not. I have no intent on departing again, unless it is at the Emperor's side."

The sound of Annia's relieved exhale is audible through her helmet. "Please, do not worry us like that, my Lady." She raises a gloved hand to the side of her head. "Permit me to summon Julia."

"If she's on her break, I can come and speak to you both later."

"There is no need to make you wait. Her hour is already nearly over."

While they wait, the Warrior’s mind drifts to days earlier when the pleasant blue light of the wall scones had been snuffed out by some unknown darkness. She has still not brought the incident up to Varis, as she is not entirely certain that it was not a trick of her imagination. Fortunately, this time no wayward phantoms present themselves, and after a few minutes Julia’s blue and black form appears making hasty progress to the royal chambers.

“There was something wrong, my Lady?” is Julia’s greeting as she salutes. The Warrior laughs and shakes her head again.

“No, no, nothing is amiss. But, I have news that I wanted to share with the both of you.” She presses her palms together and feels a touch of embarrassment. “You are the closest thing I have to friends here at the palace.”

The sisters both make nearly matching noises of concern. “My Lady?”

The Warrior holds out her left hand, brandishing the finger with its simple black band. “Yesterday, Varis asked me to marry him. And so, I asked him in return. And we both said ‘yes’.”

For a long moment there is silence as the armored heads lean in to stare at her hand. With their faces concealed, the Warrior cannot gauge their reaction to the revelation. The guards do not move until she lowers her hand.

Julia lifts her own gloved hand nearly to her faceplate. “Is that what he was pacing over?” She looks to her sister, who shrugs.

The Warrior echoes: “‘Pacing’?”

“Ah, well.” Julia clears her throat. “Perhaps not pacing, not exactly. But His Radiance has been taken on milling about in thought between his meetings for the last week or so. I had thought he was dwelling upon the business out in Gyr Abania, but it would be gladdening to know it was something far less fretful.”

She glances between them. “Then, you aren’t upset?”

Julia tips her head to the side. “Why would we be upset, my Lady?”

Annia bounces once on her toes. “I love weddings.”

“She does.”

“I just--you two know him better than I do. Or at least, I think you two--I mean--” The Warrior pauses and tries to collect her thoughts. “You two clearly both care about him and his well being.”

“We do, my Lady. That is why we are quite happy to hear the news.”

She smiles. “You’re the first we’ve told.”

Annia bounces again. “We’re honored, my Lady!”

“Well, please keep it between the two of you until His Radiance makes an official announcement,” she said. The sisters salute in crisp unison.

“Of course, my Lady!”

The Warrior is smiling as she heads back inside. There stands the Emperor, twisting a bit of pale hair between his fingers.

“What did they say?”

“Um, they both seemed okay with it. Annia apparently likes weddings?”

Varis smiles. “Oh, yes. I had nearly forgotten about that. When her cousin was wed last year she spent three days telling me about every detail while they were escorting me between meetings.”

“Well, we’ll have to be sure not to disappoint her, when the time comes.”

He shifts his armored bulk to bend and kiss her. “When the time comes.”


	27. Chapter 27

Late in the morning on the day of the Long Night festivities, the Warrior makes her way down to one of the palace exits. She pushes open the door near the library but does not venture entirely outside, as the snow has drifted nearly to her knees. Despite the late hour of the morning, the sky still bears a bruised hue as though it were closer to sunset. Not quite twilight in its lack of vibrance, but certainly not a bright blue sky as one might expect for the hour. 

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” A man’s voice chimes behind her in the hallway. “In a sad way. The sun is still there, but hiding, just out of sight, out of reach. She will return one day, but until then we are left wanting for her brilliance.”

“That’s an eloquent way of phrasing it,” she says. The Warrior turns away from the door, expecting to see one of the guards who has wandered away from his post.

The corridor is empty behind her.

Frowning, she lets the door fall shut behind her and makes her way back to where the hall intersects with the one that heads to the library. A guard is standing where he should be, not paying her any mind, but there is no one else visible in either direction. She puzzles for a moment, trying to place where she has heard the speaker’s voice before. When she fails to place the slightly nasal tone, the Warrior decides to let the incident pass and returns to the royal chambers.

By the time she returns, the midday meal has been delivered. Lunch today is a lighter meal than normal in the palace, and Varis explains that this is so they have room in their bellies for the feast awaiting them later in the day. The thought of a feast befitting an emperor is certainly appealing, but she cannot help recalling the alchemist's earlier mention of food tasters.

"You don't worry about someone using the gala as a chance to poison you? Or attack you?"

His thin brows raise at her question. "There is always concern, of course. But, were I to live in constant fear and worry over something happening, I would scarcely have a chance to enjoy myself."

She turns her tea in her fingers. "That's true."

Varis peers down at her, his long lovely hair tousling as he tips his head toward his right shoulder. “Is aught amiss? You have seemed pensive since returning from your walk. I thought you would be more enthused about this afternoon’s activities.”

She looks up from her teacup, face pinching into a reflexive smile. “Oh, I am looking forward to the gala, Varis, don’t worry.”

“What bothers you, then? Surely you can tell me.”

The Warrior hesitates and stalls by draining the last of the tea. Part of her wants to dismiss his concerns, but she also knows there is nothing to be gained from avoiding the truth.

“I thought I heard a man speak to me earlier, when I was looking outside at the sky,” she says. She lifts her gaze to meet his and see the minute, perplexed pinch of his brows. “I’m not quite certain who it was--just a man who commented on the sun. When I turned to look at him, I was alone, and I’m not entirely sure I didn’t imagine the interaction. I suppose it was just a little… unsettling.”

“I see.” Varis’ eyes close, and his chin tips toward his chest. After nearly a minute of silent contemplation, he opens his eyes. “Some manifestation of your Echo, perhaps?”

She blinks. “I hadn’t considered that. I mean, the Echo doesn’t usually make me hear voices of people that aren’t there, but I suppose it isn’t impossible…” There is admittedly much she still does not understand of the gift, and the Warrior must concede that the thought of the unknown speaker simply being something presented by the Echo is a comforting one. She laughs to relieve the tension in her breast. “Do Garleans even believe in ghosts?”

Varis hums in consideration of her question. “We know that souls exist, though much of their nature is still a mystery. We know that upon death souls go to the Lifestream, and there has been some speculation over the years that an unclean death can cause a soul to be unable to move on.”

“And here I thought there was no spiritualism in Garlemald.”

He grunts. “We do not need gods to know that our souls exist.”

“Fair enough.” She offers him a conciliatory smile. “Perhaps I just heard a ghost, then.”

“I am certain that my grandsire has scattered the place with more than a few wayward spirits,” Varis says. He brushes a crumb from the front of his turtleneck. “I am glad that you are not in any great distress.”

“Did I look distressed?”

He brushes at his shirt again. “Distracted, at the least.”

The Warrior smiles. “I’m alright, Varis. Really.” She catches him checking her face before responding.

“I do hope so. I would not want to detract from your enjoyment of today’s festivities.”

“Oh, oh no, I’m looking forward to it!” She grabs at his nervous hand and pulls it to her own collarbone. “The sky was so curiously beautiful. I can see why you all would like to celebrate its coming.”

His pinched expression relaxes before a smile returns to his lips. "Good. Let us freshen up and get ready to depart."

"Your Radiance, Lady Lux, please wait here. The carriage will arrive shortly."

Not quite two bells later, the Warrior stands at the Emperor's side outside one of the palace's private entrances. She looks up at the sky, which is still painted in twilight hues through the thin layer of clouds that have gathered.

Next to her, Varis nods and adjusts the collar of his dark red fur lined cloak. Underneath the furred mantle, the Emperor wears a long black coat that is ornamented by golden epaulettes and the Imperial insignia on his back. This is worn over neatly-pressed black slacks and a white dress shirt that is accented with an imperial red sash. She thinks he looks quite distinguished, and feels a tad under dressed in comparison.

When she voices this difference, Varis smiles as he takes in the sight of her high collared black gown and fur lined black cloak. "I think you look quite regal, my dear." He shakes his head marginally. "Besides, you don't want to dress too outrageously on your first public outing. It might have a negative effect on how they view you."

The Warrior wants to argue that she doesn't really care of what the people think of her attire, but she knows that it is tied into politics, and such matters do have importance to her partner. So rather than naysay, she takes his hand and threads their fingers together.

She requests: "You'll guide my way, I trust. I don't want to do anything to embarrass you."

Varis gives a nearly curt nod and squeezes her hand. "Of course. I know this is a foreign culture to you. I will do everything I can to ensure your understanding." There is a hopeful note to his voice. "And perhaps also choose to make it your own."

There is still the possibility of that, she muses. There is no real reason that the peaceful observances of Garlemald do not deserve the same level of consideration as those of the Eorzean states. There does not seem to be any harm in the celebration of the changing of the seasons, especially as Garlemald's festivities do not to honor or insult any members of the Twelve.

The day is still considered a holiday though, and this fact makes the Warrior give consideration to the Emperor's closest aides. The guards stand in their usual polite silence behind Varis and the Warrior. While they wait for the carriage, she turns to face the sisters. Julia is in the midst of a silent visual scan of the area, but Annia immediately looks in the other woman’s direction when the Warrior moves.

“Did you need something, my Lady?”

"No, but… doesn't it bother you, having to work today? It's a holiday for you, isn't it?"

Annia inclines her head in thought. "I suppose it isn't ideal, but we don't complain. Julia and I usually switch off during the evening to partake in some of the food and spirits--" She barks out a laugh. "We'd be fools to complain about getting to enjoy the fare at the nicest party in the city."

"Oh. Well, I suppose that isn't too bad." She startles slightly as the heavy weight of Varis’ hand touches the back of her shoulder. Catching the vaguely reproachful look on his profile, she says: “What, can’t I ask them a question?”

“You can, but you are also interrupting them from their work.”

“Oh, but I--” She huffs and picks at the edge of her cloak. “Sorry.”

“There is no harm done,” he says, his tone gentle. Varis’ hand squeezes at her shoulder before sliding down to press a touch that is both supportive and possessive to the base of her spine. “But, remember: once we leave the palace we are ‘on stage’, so to speak. All the eyes of Garlemald will be upon you and I.”

“Mostly you,” she says. “I will just be a curiosity. You’re the Emperor. Everyone wants to see you.”

His smile reaches his eyes, its warmth just for her. “You are indeed a curiosity, my love. And you will be even more so when the rumors of our engagement start to circulate.”

“You haven’t made an announcement of that yet.”

“Mm, no. The only ones we have told are my bodyguards.” Varis gestures indirectly behind them. “And I completely trust their discretion. However, were a stray rumor to escape, well, how people react can be quite enlightening…”

She considers his words, and then arches her right brow as she looks up at him. “You started a rumor?”

He smirks. “I might have.”

The Warrior gives an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever am I going to do with you, Your Radiance?”

The Emperor’s reply is just a deep chuckle. He gives her back a pat at the sound of wheels approaching down the street. A large covered carriage rolls into view. It is painted black and accented with brass fittings and red and white banners displaying the imperial crest. Were she not used to the dark color scheme preferred in the city, she would have found the appearance of the carriage a bit macabre. As it is, she finds the vehicle rather stately. This is not what most catches her eye, though. 

The carriage is pulled by a pair of the fluffiest steel gray chocobos she has ever seen. The massive beasts are in good spirits; they whistle and chirrup between each other and stamp their feathered feet in the snow once the wheels roll to a stop.

The Warrior blurts out: “There are chocobos in Garlemald?”

Varis looks at her. “Of course there are, my dear. Far finer than the scrawny things you’ll see in Eorzea, I should think.”

“Oh, they’re adorable!” She hears another warm laugh from the Emperor as she makes her way to the closer of the birds. 

“Do be careful,” he says in a gently admonishing tone. “They can be a bit bitey around strangers.”

The big bird gives no indication of any inclination to nip at the Warrior, and trills pleasantly as she scratches underneath one of the leather straps of the bridle. “I haven’t seen a chocobo since I left mine in Ishgard.”

“Ours are no longer used for cavalry since the invention of magitek,” Varis says. “They are mostly for public showings and competitions, these days.” He holds out a gloved hand. “Come, I promise we can visit the royal stables some time.”

She gives the big bird a final pat before returning to the Emperor’s side. He takes her hand and leads her to the side of the carriage, where an attendant has opened the door and lowered a small set of stairs to the frozen ground.

She permits herself to let Varis and the attendant fuss over her safe ascent into the carriage, as she knows they mean no implications that she cannot do such a simple task. There is something charming about the intense attention that the Emperor pays to her as she settles onto one of the plush seat cushions and arranges the folds of her skirt.

The carriage creaks and shifts slightly on its axles as the Emperor enters the cabin and places himself next to the Warrior. Through the gauzy gray curtains that cover the windows, she sees the guards take their places up top--Annia in the front, Julia in the back. Then the driver barks a command to the chocobos, and the carriage starts off.

For a few minutes the Warrior passes the time looking out the window, but she has seen the uniform black and gray buildings before and soon turns her attention to her companion. Varis is seated with his eyes closed and head reclining into a cushion.

"So, tell me, Varis."

"Mm?"

“Who normally accompanies you to this event? Aside from your bodyguards, of course.”

Varis blinks his eyes open, and his lips part to let out a thoughtful croak. His cheeks darken. “Ah, well. Last year Regula accompanied me.”

The Warrior wonders with amusement at the color on his face. “Why the blush, my dear?”

He clears his throat. “Regula had only returned to the capital for the holiday. We drank a great deal of wine at the gala. And Regula is--was--very… affectionate when he was wine-drunk.”

“I see.” She grins up at him. “Well, I hope I can provide you with as enjoyable a time this year.”

“I am certain that you will.” He wraps a long arm around her shoulders. She settles against him, enjoying his familiar warmth and subtle scent. "You do not need to think of it as some sort of competition."

"Oh, I know." She traces a fingertip around the circumference of one of his shirt buttons. "I just want you to be happy, too. Because, I mean… I'm happy." She focuses on the steady thud of his heart under her hand while waiting for his reply.

Finally, Varis says: "It fills me with dread to try and imagine what life would be like were I alone now. I should think persisting in my duties without Regula would have driven me to madness and ruin." He gives his head a small shake. "I would rather not speculate past that."

Misliking the morbid nature of Varis' words, she reaches and touches the smooth, freshly shaven skin of his jaw. "Well, I am glad that I was able to be here for you. Would that Regula were here, too. I think he would have enjoyed seeing you so happy."

"I am inclined to agree with you," Varis murmurs. He covers her hand with his own. "Let us not dwell on such sad business. Regula would not want that of us."

The Warrior nods, and returns her gaze to the scenery rolling past. The sharp lines of the buildings of the central city and industrial complex have started to give way to patches of dark evergreen foliage and stretches of snow painted fence. Curious, she leans to get a better look.

Varis says: "Where we are headed is at one of the estates in the older part of the city. Grandsire razed much of the original construction when he rebuilt the capital while I was a youth, but he spared some of the more monied establishments in order to keep the old elite of the Republic placated."

"He strikes me as the dangerously clever sort," she says. Varis sighs.

"Indeed."

Soon the black and gray is gone, replaced by open sky and evergreen trees, dotted at regular intervals by large stonework mansions. These older buildings, with the soft edges of their worn stone and warm azure and amber lights gleaming from behind each pane of glass, remind the Warrior of the homes of the more affluent citizens of Ishgard. It does not strike a homesickness in her breast, but instead a sense of comfort and familiarity.

“I was born in one of these mansions,” the Emperor says. She looks away from a stone arch that has been decorated with a length of blue ribbon.

“Were you? I would’ve thought you were born in the palace.”

“Mm, no. The palace as we know it today was still under construction when I was born. My grandsire was very exacting when it came to the building’s design and fabrication.”

“Fancied himself an architect, did he?”

The Emperor snorts softly. “In a past life, perhaps. He wanted everything to be just so, and was always complaining that he could build it himself better in a fraction of the time.”

“I would say he thought highly of himself,” says the Warrior. “But, he was the Emperor, the one who created this whole grand mess, so that has to account for something.”

"Indeed." His pale eyes search the line of estates that the carriage is rolling past. "I don't know which it was, though. By the time I was old enough to remember I was already a young lad living in the palace. I just recall my grandsire sneering as he told me I was born out here in one of the old mansions from the Republic." Varis snorts. "As though he was not."

"Well, I think they're lovely." She gestures at the closest snow draped stone building. "They remind me somewhat of Ishgard. You know… very well lived in. Cared for."

"Some of them have been here for centuries, yes. Though, we have never had to concern ourselves with dragon attacks."

She laughs at his comment, and he smiles.

A short distance further, and the carriage slows. The Warrior spots another old estate opposite a stone wall that is bedecked in imperial colors. There are a multitude of people gathered, and she can hear the chattering of voices, though the windows obscure their details.

"I suppose I should have asked how well you fare with crowds," Varis says.

"Better when I'm armed, but I should be okay with you at my side." His eyes widen at her words, and she laughs. "I will be fine. Don't worry. I can handle rubbing elbows with the upper class for a few hours. I've had to do it in Ishgard, and I doubt that your people are any worse than the high houses."

Varis chuckles. "A vote of confidence from the Warrior of Light?"

"I hope not to be disappointed."

He snorts. "Hopefully they can behave in front of their emperor."

The Warrior cannot deny a brief flash of nervousness when the carriage finally comes to a stop. There is an anticipatory murmur outside as the door is opened and the cold afternoon air spills inside the cabin. She shivers and draws her cloak in more tightly as Varis’ weight shifts away from her. Polite cheers and cries of greeting meet her ears as he exits the carriage. She watches the lines of his red and black backside as he raises his hand to his chest in a salute to the onlookers, which earns him another cheer. Varis offers those gathered a restrained and yet cheerful greeting. Once some of the group has moved on to the mansion, the Emperor half turns to look back into the carriage. He holds out a hand.

“Now then, no need to stay out here in the cold, my dear. Why don’t we go inside?”

The Warrior smiles at him, and feels a quiet flash of relief when he smiles back. She takes his hand and fights back a laugh when Varis half-stoops as she steps out of the cabin. He kisses the back of her hand before righting himself. Varis offers her his elbow, and she quickly tucks her hand into its bend. The lingering crowd watches them, curious, but is swift to move out of the Emperor’s path. She hears the familiar clack of Julia and Annia’s boots a few yalms behind, and lets herself relax. She had not been entirely joking about lacking a weapon while speaking to Varis--being unarmed around so many strangers has always made the Warrior nervous. But with Varis calm and poised at her side, and the bodyguards not far away, she decides that she should just relax and play at being the Emperor’s mistress. This is an evening for enjoyment, she reminds herself. 

They traverse the carefully maintained path to the main entrance of the estate without interruption. Though many linger at the sides to see him pass, none dare to bar the Emperor's progress.

Up close the mansion is a great thing of tooled granite and marble. The Warrior supposes she has grown used to the carefully patterned elegance of the palace, as the fanciful columns and archways here are clearly meant to show off the owner's wealth and status. The grounds surrounding the building are a mixture of carefully tended evergreen plants and a meticulously manicured layer of snow. The Warrior puzzles over the desire to go over the snow with a rake as she accompanies her partner into the building.

It is warm inside, and for that she is willing to forgive the ostentatious trappings. The halls are decorated in lengths of dusty blue fabric, occasionally draped to partially obscure the visibility of small sun shaped ornaments. The Warrior recalls the nearly aggressive holiday decorations back in Eorzea, and idly wonders why she has seen none at the palace.

They are guided--though Varis appears to know the way--down a long brightly lit hallway and into an equally expansive dining hall. Their arrival is loudly announced, as though it were possible to miss.

"Announcing His Radiance, Emperor Varis zos Galvus!"

There is polite applause as the Emperor of Garlemald strides into the great dining hall with a mysterious woman on his arm. The Warrior can feel the eyes upon her--the curious, speculative, judging gazes of the people of Garlemald. She half reckons she can hear their thoughts. Who is this woman hanging off the arm of the most powerful man in the room? Though she has heard Varis surmise that much of the city knows of her existence at his side through hearsay, they do not truly know who she is. She is an enigma, something that needs to be figured out so that it can be properly gossipped over later. 

Their silent inquiry does not bother the Warrior. She has grown used to such looks while serving as the hero of Eorzea. Time and again, from the insular Gridanians to the wealthy of Ul’dah and the Ishgardian nobles, she has faced the scrutiny of people who thought her beneath them. Who is she, this nobody, that would stand before men of great import and quietly keep her head held high?

She thinks to herself: I am the Warrior of Light, the hero of Eorzea, and the woman who will someday be your empress. Take your pick to which you find suitably impressive.

Not words she can say out loud.

"Will they be serving alcohol?" She whispers up to the Emperor's ear.

"Enough to float a chocobo," Varis murmurs.

"Good."

It takes a long time to traverse the length of the hall. Every few steps, some Garlean noble or other man of import stops them to greet the Emperor and wish him well. The Warrior recognizes a few of the men--the legatus from the war meeting is among the crowd, as are a smattering of faces she has seen in the training center. Though a few of them give her a cordial nod, none of them address her directly.

The women in attendance are less discreet that the men in their survey of the Warrior. They peer at her from a safe distance, keeping to the side of their husbands. Whether they are suspicious or envious seems to vary from face to face, but the women are like their men and make no attempt to directly address her.

They are taken to a pair of seats with a clear view of the gathering. This has the slightly adverse effect of also putting them in full view of the room, but the Warrior does her best to ignore this and keeps her focus on Varis as much as she can. To his own credit, the Emperor appears capable of keeping a steady eye on the entire room while also paying it no attention at all. He is seated to her left, as she is accustomed to, and any flicker of anxiety that might pass through her thoughts is easily dispelled by his close proximity.

The food is nothing remarkable, though it is of obvious quality and expensive import. The Warrior has become accustomed to dining from the palace larders, and finds that the gala's cuisine lacks a certain personality. She still eats her fill, of course, having been left hungry by the light lunch hours before.

While the dishes from the second course are being cleared away, a man dressed in a showy black and red coat stops in front of where the Emperor is seated. The Warrior remembers him being introduced as the host of the party earlier, someone from the Senate, but she cannot recall his name. The senator salutes Varis before speaking.

"Lord Varis, I do so hope you are enjoying the meal thus far."

Varis gives a politely restrained smile. "Yes, Tiberus. Your chefs never disappoint."

"That is most excellent to hear, Your Radiance. If there is anything you would like to request, just let one of my stewards know."

The Warrior thinks of the meal so far and chooses to speak up. "Might I request something, Senator?"

The man hesitates. He glances at the Emperor, who fixes him with an unwavering stare, and then looks back to the Warrior. "Of course, your ladyship."

"I would like to request a bowl of mashed popotoes. Enough to share."

In her peripheral, she sees that Varis has not shifted his gaze from the other man, but below the table she feels his boot heel bump against hers.

"Mashed popotoes. Of course, miss. It would be our pleasure."

When the senator is gone, Varis leans toward his companion. "I can survive a day without popotoes."

She smiles indulgently up at the Emperor while beckoning at a passing sommelier. "I know. But, I want you to have a good time."

When the next round of food is brought out, a dish of mashed popotoes is set before the Warrior amidst the hearty breads and creamy soups. Varis' eyes immediately go to the dish, and he fixes her with a subtle look of betrayal when she raises a forkful of the spuds to her lips.

"I could be cruel and not share," she says after swallowing. "Since you have declared not to need such an indulgence."

Varis glances to his left, but the legatus sitting there is deep in a conversation and paying them no heed. The senator to the Warrior's right is similarly distracted. Varis leans to murmur near her ear. "Surely you can permit this particular indulgence to your emperor?" Underneath the table, the fingers of his right hand brush discreetly over her thigh.

She ducks her face to hide a flush of heat. "Now, Your Radiance, I am half inclined to think you are trying to start a scandal." She nudges the bowl in his direction.

His smile is a sly, broad thing. "I would not dream of such indiscretions."

The Emperor does not hide the fact that he is eating the majority of the requested dish, and only pauses in his usual methodical consumption to answer a few questions that are cheerfully called from the neighboring stretch of tables. In turn, the Warrior does not hide the smile that creeps upon her face when she hears the man contently hum to himself. She is briefly overcome by her affection for the big man and his love of mashed popotoes, and has to check herself before she gives in to the urge to lean over and kiss his cheek.

There will be time for that later. 

After emptying her third glass of wine, the Warrior feels the need to use the bathroom. She excuses herself from the table, leaving Varis under the watchful care of Julia. Out in the comparatively empty hallway, she gets directions to the toilet from one of the attendants. The small room that holds the toilet is connected by a door to an adjacent powder room, and it is through this door that she hears voices while she is finishing her business.

"I don't know, Emperor Solus wouldn't have stood for such a thing." A woman, Garlean by her accent.

"What do you think of that?" Another woman, her accent similar but slightly more nasal in quality.

"I wasn't aware that Lord Varis had started to dabble in the attentions of women again, after so long. But, I suppose it is lonely in the palace."

"If I'd known he was in the market for someone so young, I'd have put in word for my granddaughter."

The Warrior frowns at the sneering laughter that comes through the door.

"Honestly, he is the leader of our nation. He could certainly do better than some common harlot from the provinces."

"She isn't even Garlean. I can only wonder what Lord Varis is thinking."

The Warrior hears another door creak open, and the sound of the women's voices fades under the sudden pounding of blood in her ears. She finishes in the toilet and hurries into the freshly vacated powder room.

Something dark streaks free from the back of her mind. It is a reminder that the Garleans are her enemy, that the commonfolk at the party would view her as such if they knew the truth of her origin. The little shadow reminds her of this, and of how inferior to her they are. That she could probably slay the whole lot of them with naught more than a knife from the dining hall. It would be so very easy and--

She gasps and squeezes her eyes shut, hands fumbling blindly over the sink for the little knobs to turn on the water. The Warrior fights back tears, fights back the insistent shadow, fights back the anger and confusion that claw at the forefront of her thoughts. The water pouring from the faucets is too hot--too cold--she cannot find the little switch that will blend the two--

“My Lady, are you alright?”

In her mounting panic, the Warrior has not processed the sound of the bathing room’s door creaking open. Her breath catches in her throat as she opens her eyes to look at the intruder. The woman has stopped in place, one hand on the door lock. The Warrior’s brain fumbles for her identity, but she has never seen the woman before.

“Did something happen?”

A voice she recognizes, though she has not heard it before unmodulated, not heard the slight sweet twang of the Garlean accent in its natural state. The Warrior takes a breath, looks the woman over, and realizes she does recognize the particular black and red armor and helmet tucked under the woman’s other arm.

“Annia,” she whispers. The woman nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you without the helmet.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies.” Annia sets her helmet on the marble countertop. “Forgive my intruding on your business, my Lady, but are you well?”

She croaks out: “I’m fine” as she fumbles with the controls on the sink. “I just--” She gives a soft, bitter laugh. “I suppose I am not well equipped for the cutting business of women’s gossip. I am far more suited to being thrown onto the battlefield.”

“Part of why Lord Varis is so fond of you,” Annia says. The woman’s cheeks darken and she looks away. “Apologies. Did someone say something to you?”

“Nothing directly. I don’t know--I don’t think they knew I was using the toilet while they were in here powdering their noses.” She repeats what the women said, and the guard frowns.

“They are just jealous. They do not know you at all.” Annia shakes her head. “I know the words hurt, but do not take them to heart.”

“Easier said than done,” the Warrior murmurs. She dips her fingers into the warm water and runs them over her eyes. “I do not understand why you and Julia continue to show me such kindness.”

Annia watches her for a moment, and then shrugs. “We have no reason to treat you otherwise, my Lady. Even though our history would otherwise posit us as enemies, you have never treated us with anything but respect. Do you not think you deserve the same?”

“Perhaps not by default.” She turns off the water. “I… get angry, sometimes. Can’t control it.”

“You have done well to control it while at the palace.”

“Yes, well. Varis may be somewhat obstinate at times, but he rarely does anything to truly upset me.” She notices Annia smiling at this, but chooses to busily dry her fingers rather than comment on the look. “I’m… willing to work on things with him.”

“Then, there may be hope for us yet,” Annia says. She extends a gloved hand and delicately touches the Warrior’s shoulder. “Stand tall, my Lady.”

"I will, Annia. Thank you." She considers her reflection in the small mirror over the sink. She does not think her emotional slip is visible. "I should get back to the festivities before Varis worries."

The guard nods. "If you could, please do not tell Lord Varis about seeing me.” Annia gestures at her helmet.

“Oh, no, of course not.” The Warrior brings a forefinger to her lips. “And, please don’t mention my problem with him. I don’t want to give him cause to worry during the party.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

The Emperor's gaze is upon her as soon as she enters the room--she thinks she feels it before he actually is in her line of sight. His eyes are bright when she reaches her seat.

"Did I miss a cocktail?" The Warrior keeps her tone light and playful as she sits.

"Just a toast," Varis says. His look is scrutinizing. "You were gone for some time. They’ve already served the next course."

"I had trouble with the taps," she says, and hurries to pick up her glass.

The Emperor's tone is careful. "The palace does have more modern fixtures."

"I'll tell you about it later."

He nods. Then, to her surprise and admitted shock, Varis leans in and presses his lips to the side of her brow. Her cheeks are warmed by an embarrassed flash of heat. Even as she looks up to his retreating form the Warrior can see the faces turning to observe them.

She whispers: "Should you be that affectionate in public, Your Radiance?"

Varis smiles. "I am the emperor. I can show you affection if I so desire."

“Won’t they take it as a sign of weakness?”

The smile lingers. “If they do, it is a sign of their own weakness.”

She flicks a coy glance out to the busy room. “What if I showed you affection?”

“Mm, well, that might cause something of a scene.” He clears his throat. “It might be prudent to wait until later to do anything too scandalous.”

The Warrior settles back in her seat and picks up her fork. “This is quite the crowded affair to be affectionate in, wouldn’t you say? I much prefer the privacy of the palace.”

“Indeed.” Varis clears his throat again and picks up his wineglass. “Such public occasions are quite exposing.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” she says as she continues eating. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

After the last courses, and then a lavish dessert, the Warrior is feeling a touch overfed and mildly tipsy. It is a pleasant enough feeling, and by the periodic humming that comes from to her left, she can tell that Varis is in good spirits as well. He is still working on another large piece of rolanberry pie, having first cleared away the Warrior’s unfinished slice. Their eyes meet as he is lifting another forkful of syrupy berries to his mouth, and she gives the Emperor a look that promises she will tease him properly about his nigh bottomless stomach when they are in private. He just winks at her.

The far side of the room is being cleared away of its tables and chairs, and the guests are filing in to crowd closer to the remaining tables. Fortunately, none are coming too very close to where she and the Emperor are seated. She catches herself glancing at the knife that rests on the edge of Varis’ pie plate. The Warrior mentally chides herself, trying to remind herself that these people cannot simply be viewed as her enemies forever. Someday they will be her people just as much as those in Eorzea. She will be like the sun, shining her protective light upon the whole world. Definitely not a future she could have foreseen years ago when she made her first foray into the local adventurer’s guild. 

Of course, when she first set eyes on the Emperor’s smug face in the Sea of Clouds some months ago, she would never have been able to predict how fond she would become of that same self-satisfied mien. Her life was full of such curiosities.

The empty space in the grand hall is soon filled with a dozen soldiers in dress uniforms. They are all male, but are accompanied by two female soldiers who are carrying a flute and violin. Curious, the Warrior sets aside her musings and turns her attention to the soldiers as the lights dim.

One of the men steps forward and begins to speak to the room in a loud, clear voice.

“Harken unto me, brothers and sisters of Garlemald. Join us tonight before the blue fires, under a dark, cold sky, as our ancestors did so long ago. Join us and remember.”

A long, pining note wails forth from the violin, echoed by notes from the flute. The men began to sing, their deep voices resonating and filling the air with some ancient song. They are singing in Garlean, but the Warrior’s Echo is still able to give her a mixture of actual words and general ideas.

‘Remember us,’ the soldiers sing. ‘Remember that we once lived. Remember the trials that we faced, so that our daughters and sons might know peace and prosperity. Remember us.’

The men sing, accompanied by violin and flute, and tell the story of the ancient Garleans, of how they fled north to escape persecution due to their inability to use magic. It is a tale of desperation and death, of fleeing into what seemed to be an endless frozen night. They sing of starvation and sorrow, of burning almost everything they had fled with just to stave off the icy grip of death for another day.

And then, a strange pool of liquid that lingered on the surface of a snowbank. It did not freeze, and they could not drink it. What they could do was set it aflame, and so they did, huddling before the mysterious blue flame. It was there they stopped, in the far frozen reaches of northern Ilsabard, and it was there that the aether-locked refugees set down their roots in the snow and became what were now known as the people of Garlemald.

The song concludes with an entreaty to the audience to drink and feast and celebrate the perseverance of their ancestors, to give thanks to their efforts, and to give praise to Emperor Solus, who had raised them higher than the faithful blue flames ever could have on their own. 

With that the lights are raised and toasts are poured. The Warrior ponders what she has witnessed while sipping a mug of mulled wine.

“You look pensive, my dear,” Varis murmurs in her direction. “Was the show not to your liking?”

“Oh, it was quite moving. It’s just… when you said ‘pageant’, I was not expecting adults to be performing.” The Warrior smiles sheepishly up at him. “When I think of such holiday events, I think more of children on a stage singing songs and acting out fanciful versions of historic events. Not grown men and women.”

Varis shrugs. “The Long Night festival honors those who have come before us. Children prancing about feature more in the spring festivals. Fertility and growth and all that.”

She smiles. “Do you have spring here in Garlemald?”

“We do enjoy a very short growing season where it stops snowing for a month or two.”

“But, it snows the rest of the year.”

“More or less.”

“What season did I first arrive here in?”

“The summer,” Varis says without having to reflect.

“It was snowing, then.”

He barks out a laugh. “Of course it was. This is Garlemald.”

Upon their eventual exit from the gala, the sky outside is dark and blanketed in deep blue cloud cover. The carriage from earlier is already awaiting their return. Julia stands at the back, ever mindful. The chocobos trill and fluff their feathers, and the bright rattle of the metal fittings on their gear meets the Warrior’s ears as they approach. The driver hops down and opens the cabin door.

“You and your sister didn’t drink too much, I hope,” Varis says to Annia as they stop and wait for the driver to lower the steps.

“Just enough to feel festive, Your Radiance,” Annia says. “We have a bottle waiting for us at home.”

“Good, good.”

Thanks to the biting cold, the Warrior feels a touch more clear headed as she enters the carriage. Once Varis is settled next to her and the door is closed, she leans over and catches his chin. He rumbles his approval as she kisses him.

“Have a good time, did you?”

“Well enough.”

“Good.” Varis tips his head to the side and kisses at her ring finger. “I am glad to hear it.”

The Warrior shifts her weight back into the cushions. As she makes herself comfortable, she asks: “Do you think anyone noticed?” She gestures at his left hand.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Varis says. “How often does anyone truly dare to look at the Emperor’s hands?” A big hand looms in the dim light to cup her cheek. “I’m sure there will be gossip aplenty in the next newspaper. Perhaps that will do well to take the people’s minds off more troublesome business.”

“And your mind?”

The Emperor descends upon her, lips still sweet with wine and dessert when they brush against hers. “My mind dwells both upon you and the well being of my people.” He knocks against the carriage window with his free hand, and the vehicle stirs into motion.

The sounds of the gathering fade into the evening, and soon all that the Warrior hears is the wheels on the streets and the patter of chocobo feet. Varis settles against her, and with his heavy arm wrapped around her, the Warrior again feels safe. She relaxes against his side, eyes half closed. 

After a few minutes of peace, her mind makes it ways back to events earlier in the evening. A soft sigh escapes her. 

“I lose my temper sometimes,” she says. “It’s like there’s this dark thing that lives inside me, and it tries to claw its way out of my head and into the waking world.” She picks at the edge of his cloak. Varis makes an inquiring noise, and she continues. “When I went to use the toilet, I overheard a few ladies… speaking ill of me. I did not speak to them, but I--it bothered me. It woke up that dark thing in my head and reminded me that I don’t belong here. That the people at that party are supposed to be my enemies.” She feels ashamed, but does not stop speaking. “I thought about how easily I could kill the whole room with naught more than one of the table knives.”

Her admission is initially met only with the low creak of the carriage wheels.

Finally, Varis says: “Truth be told, I entertained similar thoughts during the party.”

She glances up at him, but his expression is inscrutable in the shadows. “You did?”

“Mm-hmm.” His weight shifts toward hers, and his arm tightens its hold to keep her close. “Van Asimi would not shut up about some villa his wife had bullied him into purchasing, and after a few minutes I was desperately hoping that you would return so I could find a reason to stop listening to him. With every inane, egocentric conversation that I was dragged into for the sake of politeness, I further wished to drive the speaker off with a fork.”

She nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“And none of them cared to hear anything of me, of their emperor. They only wished to speak of themselves, of their achievements, of the great business their family was involved with. They did not preface their vanity with a question of concern for my health or happiness. They did not ask who the lovely woman at my side was, or what was the nature of the smile I fixed her with. I am sure that they were just being respectful, but…”

“‘Tis lonely at the top,” the Warrior says. Varis grunts softly and nods.

“Indeed. You know that as well as I do. And yet, I would be lying were I to say that I did not wish them a bit of ill for it.” His fingertips trace along her arm. “However…”

“Hm?”

“When I was a younger man, my grandsire told me that darkness lingered in the heart of every man, no matter how good and just they might be. Because we are all frail and incomplete beings.”

“‘Incomplete’?”

She feels his shoulder shift in a shrug. “Just something he would say. I know it does not excuse the dark thoughts that creep into our mind at times, but… There is nothing wrong with you, my dear.”

“What?”

“There is nothing wrong with you, nor your heart, nor your soul. No matter what the dark spots in your mind might tell you.”

There is something to his words, to the simplicity in his tone, that makes her eyes sting. She squeezes them shut.

“That is a kind thing to say, my dear Emperor. But, how can I believe them to be true, when you don’t believe them about yourself as well?”

He hesitates. Then, softly: “What makes you think I do not?”

She thinks of what she knows of her betrothed, and what she knows of his grandfather. It is a wonder that the man has survived to the present day with any shred of decency or self worth intact. “Because, your grandsire was the sort to use such kind words as a tool to wear you down, not build you up.”

Varis says nothing, but he squeezes her again.

She says: “I love you. Despite whatever flaws you have, whatever broken parts in your heart, whatever your grandsire spent years and years telling you made you less worthy.”

He murmurs her name.

She whispers up to him. “Apart, we may be broken and incomplete, but I believe that together we will be amazing. Better than anything the star has ever seen.”

“Truly? What of my grandsire’s legacy?”

The Warrior considers, and with a smile shakes her head. “In our wake, his memory will be naught more than the darkness before dawn.”


	28. Chapter 28

The full moon passes, and the Warrior’s body goes through its usual troublesome motions. The great hero of Eorzea is again laid low by her own body. She muses, as she takes a dosage of painkillers, that at least Varis does not have the sniffles this time. She does not enjoy seeing him suffer.

When her lover has reluctantly headed off to his morning duties, the Warrior takes another pill and returns to the lonely warmth of the big bed. She makes herself as comfortable as possible, applying aether to her heating pad and trying to find the best spot to locate it.

Then she grabs one of Varis' pillows and adds it to her own. The smell of it brings her more pleasure than comfort--the subtle lingering scent of the roses and other foreign blossoms that are infused into his hair oils. She wishes for his presence--for the warm, saturating heat of his being--but since he cannot be present, the pillow will have to suffice. 

She lies in bed, half awake, trying to focus on only the warmth of the heating pad that rests on her aching abdomen. The Warrior has been attempting this for some time, and has nearly managed to drift off to sleep when her efforts are interrupted by the muffled chirrup of her linkpearl. She blinks to attention, and sits up with a grimace at the second alert. For a moment she wonders if she is imagining the sound, as in the past few months she has been the one to contact her friends back in Eorzea and not the other way around.

But, no, the linkpearl is definitely chiming for her attention.

With a low groan of pain, the Warrior slips out of bed and retrieves the device. It has not ceased in its insistent ringing, and she begins to worry that something has happened. 

The Warrior steels herself before activating the device in her ear. "Hello, yes. This is, um--" She falters with the realization that they never agreed on any sort of code name for her, in case the line was compromised on the Scions' end. "Just me."

"Warrior! Oh, thank the Twelve." It is Alisaie's strained voice she hears, laced with fear and anger.

"Yes, of course it's me. Take a breath and calm yourself. What's wrong?"

There are a few soft huffs over the line. "It's the Empire. They attacked Rhalgr's Reach."

The Warrior frowns, struggling to recall the name through the haze of painkillers she has taken. "That's…"

"Where the Resistance is headquartered!"

"Right, right." She rubs her thumb between her eyebrows. "I thought Yda--Lyse said the place was hidden." She thought that was the right name, but wasn't completely certain. That had been a rather confusing conversation the day after the Long Night gala.

"It was hidden, quite well. But the Imperials found it out somehow and attacked."

The Warrior thinks: You are at war; attacks on the enemy strongholds are part of war. But she shakes her head. "Tell me, Ali."

"It was so sudden. Everything was quiet, and then there was an explosion, and there were suddenly Imperial troops flooding in. And he was there, the bloody legatus--" Alisaie lets out a shaking breath, and her voice drops to a whisper over the line. When she speaks, the fear has surpassed the anger in her voice. "It was him. Prince Zenos. Seven hells, he was a walking nightmare, Warrior! Didn't need the troops with him at all; they were just there to cause chaos. He didn’t care when Lyse cut down the officer woman he had with him. Didn’t care about anyone, it seemed. The man single handedly cut down half of everyone that was in camp. It was as though he was looking for something. And when he didn't find it, he just… Got bored and left."

The Warrior frowns. "He just left? No demands or anything?"

"Aside from calling us pathetic, he said nary a word the whole time."

"Are you safe now? Are you hurt? What about Alphinaud and the others?"

"We're as safe as we can be while bleeding and exposed to the enemy." The Warrior hears her sniffle. "I'm fine. I didn't get hurt. But Alphinaud and Y'shtola are pretty bad off, and--" The girl's voice cracks off into a sob. "I just wish you were here. You would have been able to stop them."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." The Warrior wishes that she could be in Gyr Abania as well, if only to give the girl a hug. Regarding Zenos, she has her doubts.

"There has to be something you can do," Alisaie croaks out after muffling her tears. "Something you can say to the Emperor to stop this, Warrior. Please."

"I will see what I can do. I promise. For now I want you to rest, and keep me apprised on the state of the others."

"I will. Thank you, Warrior."

"Of course."

When the line is silent, she sets her linkpearl onto the bedside table and settles heavily back into the pillows. In this moment, she feels the distance between Garlemald and Eorzea with painful clarity. She thinks of her promise to Varis, and forlornly wonders what she can do to prevent the deaths of her faraway friends. For all their differences, the Scions are the closest thing to family that the Warrior has in the world, and the thought of them suffering makes her heart ache.

The thought that there is nothing she can do to help them only twists the knife.

She is in a light doze when a familiar rhythmic rattling brings her back to wakefulness. The bed shifts slightly underneath her as the Emperor’s knee presses into the mattress. The warm leather of his glove smooths against her cheek as she opens her eyes. Varis’ head is tipped as much to the side as his armor will permit, and his brows are drawn together.

“How do you feel?”

“Better enough, but…” The Warrior hesitates, her mind replaying her conversation with Alisaie.

“Hm? What is it?”

“I got a call from the Scions.” She looks to the linkpearl still resting on the table. “And they reported that there was an Imperial attack on the headquarters of the Ala Mhigan resistance. Prince Zenos was there, and reportedly took out quite a few troops before departing.”

Varis frowns, and his eyes narrow as he looks to the linkpearl. “We have received no word here of any assault on Ala Mhigan forces. Zenos is still under orders to stay his hand unless enemy troops provoke a response.”

“And, is he commonly one to listen to the exact letter of your orders?”

“When it suits him.” Varis shakes his head. “I will get into contact with my spies.”

“Varis.” She grabs at his hand as he moves to stand.

“Mm?”

“Tell me, why is Gyr Abania so important? Why can’t the Empire just let it go? You’ve told me you are not really interested in dumping the resources required to conquer the Eorzean states.”

Varis is still. “Now is not the time for such a discussion.”

“My friends are going to die if something doesn’t change. I don’t want--” The Warrior stops, grimacing at a flash of pain that tears through her abdomen. Her free hand fumbles over the bedcovers. Varis picks up the now cooled heating pad and holds it out to her.

He murmurs: “I must admit: I am presently at something of an impasse when it comes to dealing with the situation in Gyr Abania. Even if we never again press further into the Eorzean lands, relinquishing that borderland is not an ideal prospect.” His armor creaks with the force of a sigh. “Besides, I know not what task I would next send Zenos to were I to take away his present hunting grounds.”

“You are going to have to deal with him eventually.”

The Emperor frowns anew. “This is how I am dealing with him.”

“By avoiding him.”

He looks away. For a beat he is silent, jaw clenching, but it relaxes before he speaks again. “Did you need assistance in getting to lunch?”

She watches him for a long moment, and dislikes the way he will not meet her gaze. “I can walk.”

“I want to help you.”

“Look at me,” she says, as firmly as she can muster. Varis’ posture stiffens, and he hesitates before slowly shifting his gaze down to her. “Listen, Varis. Zenos is a problem that will have to be solved, sooner or later. And we will deal with him. Together.”

His lips press into a line. “Later. We will talk about this later.”

“Promise me.”

The Emperor meets her eyes. “I promise you.”

She thinks of the tears in Alisaie's voice, and prays that she is not foolish in believing Varis to be a man of his word.

It is a long day, and the Warrior spends much of it alone in bed. She makes a few trips to the bathing room to freshen up, and downs a steady supply of painkillers in hopes that it will numb her thoughts.

They do not do that as well as she would have liked.

Varis is away late into the evening. Dinner is delivered for the Warrior alone, but the smell of it turns her stomach and she leaves it untouched.

When he finally returns, Varis immediately comes to check on her. He frowns at her lack of appetite.

"If you are feeling that unwell, I can summon the medicus."

The Warrior cringes internally at the thought of dealing with the Emperor's doctor when she is already laid low by cramping muscles.

"I'm fine. I'm just not hungry."

Varis sighs and turns away. He is silent as he undresses. The Warrior lays on the covers and watches as he strips out of his armor. He pauses after each piece to give it a quick inspection before returning it to its place on the storage stand. He stops undressing when he is down to his carbonweave. She softly calls his name and holds out a hand.

“Please, stay with me.”

With nary a word, Varis climbs up onto the bed and settles next to her on the bedcovers. She rolls on her side, gravitating to his warmth, and extends a hand to touch his arm. He murmurs softly and captures her hand with his own.

“Hunger aside, how does your body feel?” There is a caution to his tone that she is not oblivious to.

“As well as can be expected. It will be better tomorrow.” She flexes her fingers. “I’m not cross with you, Varis.”

He nearly whispers: “I know.”

“I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this on your own. Not anymore. You are not alone. You have me, and I am not going anywhere.”

The rough pad of his thumb traces a slow line from one knuckle to the next. “You mean to rule at my side?”

This was not something she had considered. “I believe you are more than capable of ruling on your own, my sweet emperor. I mean to support you. Whatever title you want to put on it, I want to be here for you.”

“Why?”

She smiles. “Because, I believe in you, Varis. I believe, given the proper guidance, that you will do the right thing. You’ll do what’s best for us, for this nation, and maybe even for the whole star.”

The Emperor lifts her hand and rests her fingers against his lips. “With your Light, hm?”

“With my love first. Then my Light, and whatever else it takes.”

For a moment he does not respond. She looks to his face, and finds that his eyes are closed and brows slightly pinched together.

Finally, he whispers: “Regula believed in me, too.”

“Mm.” She laughs softly. “That’s all the confirmation that I need to know mine is the right desire.”

Varis grunts softly and opens his eyes. “Sometimes I wondered at his unrelenting faithfulness to me and my goals.”

The Warrior shifts her weight delicately and sits up. She easily pulls her hand free and brushes her fingers over his forehead. “I cannot speak for Regula, but I know that love can bind a person to duty more steadfastly than any oath.”

He presses into her touch, eyes briefly unfocusing. Then he blinks. "Ah. That is why you remain so dedicated to your Scions. To Eorzea. You care for them and love them as well."

"That's right." Her fingers come to rest on the top half of his facial scar. "Though, it is not the same love I feel for you. What I feel for them is something more foolish and maternal."

His lips quirk faintly into the beginnings of a smile. "You do not think your feelings for me to be foolish?"

"A good sort of foolish."

They catch sight of each other's smiles and burst into gentle laughter. She bends and presses her lips to his.

"You asked me of mine, but how fares your body today?"

Varis hums. "Whole and hale, but certainly aching at your absence from it."

She nips lightly at his lower lip. “In a few days, I will happily sit on your throne as much as you would like.” A trailing touch over his collarbone makes the big man shiver. “But, I think I can still help you with your wants in the meantime.”

His mouth moves against hers, and she takes the rumbling growl in his throat as a noise of encouragement. Her hand traces a path down his front, feeling his breath catch as her fingers pass slowly over his ribs. They rove lower, traversing his abdomen and coming to a stop at the waist of his trousers.

He breathes: “You are most… generous with your aid, my love.”

The Warrior whispers against his lips. “Tell me, Varis: Is it beneath an empress to want to touch her husband? To bring him pleasure, as he does to her? ‘Tis knowledge I should have before we exchange our vows.”

“I don--” Varis’ response falters as her hand moves to caress downwards. His cheeks turn scarlet when her fingers find their goal and curl against the burgeoning hardness found within. “--ah!”

She grins down at him. “Hm. The emperor does not seem to mind.”

He groans out what sounds like her name, followed by a gasp of “Please!”

The Warrior watches him for a moment, the medicated cloudiness of her thoughts giving way to amused affection at seeing the big man so easily wound up. “As His Radiance wishes.”

Mindful of her own physical discomforts, she shifts her weight back enough to allow her hands room to roam up and over the planes of his broad chest, fingertips meeting at the collar of his carbonweave top. He is still, at attention, as her nimble fingers release the clasps and peel away the layer of sturdy fabric. She strokes over the powerful muscles of his chest, enjoying the feeling of them as they twitch and tremble at her attention. She would like little more than to press herself against him and absorb his radiant warmth like an overgrown heating bottle, but that will have to wait until later.

“Put your knees apart.”

The Emperor does as he is told. He parts his knees, and his golden eyes gleam as they watch her move on the covers until she is settled on her own knees between his legs. She makes herself comfortable. When she stills, his long legs shift to cage her on each side.

She returns her attention to the skin she has already exposed, leaning over him and pressing a trail of kisses down his abdomen. Varis murmurs in encouragement. One hand is fisted in the bedcovers, but the other rests near her head, fingers reaching to brush against her hair. She gazes up the long line of his chest, up into his eager eyes. With a smile, she breathes lightly against the fine silvery hairs that are present above his waistband. She is rewarded with his shiver of anticipation. His hand brushes against her hair again--a downward stroke, requesting a direction without demanding it.

The Warrior looks up at him again, maintaining the eye contact as her fingers find the ties to his trousers and begin to loosen them. He is watching her, rapt, lips parted, cheeks red. She smiles. 

“You know, I wanted to touch you, back on the _Gration_.” She tugs the front flaps of his trousers open. He makes an inquisitive noise in his throat. “Your cock. It was… intimidating.”

He manages: “You took it all.”

“Yes, I’m a proper hero like that.” She winks at him. “Up.”

He lifts his hips enough to permit her to tug his trousers off from his hips, and then settles again into the covers. She glances down and admires the way his cock is straining against the cotton confines of his smallclothes.

“But, one doesn’t just grab the emperor’s cock without permission,” she says. Her fingers tease at the band of his smallclothes. “And I was at something of a disadvantage.”

Varis’ voice sticks in his throat. “I would have done anything for you.” He gasps as she presses a kiss to the thin fabric covering. “I wanted you.”

“And now?”

He groans. “I need you, more than any--anything.”

She smiles and hooks her forefingers in the waistband, tugging it down. Varis’ cock rises from its silvery nest, the tip already shining with his enthusiasm. The Warrior does not hesitate to press a kiss to the head. She smiles at the noise that catches in her lover’s throat. One hand settles at the base to support his bulk, while the other joins her tongue and lips in travelling the length of him. 

She lavishes him with attention, and he lavishes her with groaning praise. His hips jerk in warning before he comes, giving her just enough time to capture most of his release between her lips. The remainder she licks from her fingers. 

“Good?” he asks, out of breath. The Warrior grins.

“Truth be told, I’m feeling a little hungry now.” She looks up at him. “I wonder what’s leftover from dinner.”

Varis collapses back into the pillows, laughing.


	29. Chapter 29

The Warrior of Light has come to expect certain things during her time living at the palace. The floor will be cold in the morning, Varis will need to shave by the third day, and if one of the Emperor’s bodyguards shows up alone when Varis is working then there is likely trouble in the realm. So it is that the Warrior assumes something is amiss when Julia knocks on the door to the Emperor’s suite fairly early one afternoon. Varis has not been gone from the place for an hour, and so the sight of the dutiful guard in her black and blue armor immediately puts the Warrior on edge.

“What’s wrong?” she asks by way of greeting.

Julia takes a half step back. “My Lady?”

“You’ve no reason to be here if Varis hadn’t sent you here. So, I’m to reason that something is amiss that he feels requires my attention.”

“Oh.” The guard’s tone rings with uncertainty, and then she shifts her weight and salutes. “Nothing of negative import, my Lady. His Radiance wishes for you to join him, if you are not otherwise occupied. He asks you to dress comfortably and warmly.”

She considers the message. “My apologies. I suppose that I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“It is alright, my Lady. You did draw a logical conclusion from your circumstances.”

The Warrior nods. “Thank you. Is… is Varis alright, then?”

Julia’s head tips to the side. “Lord Varis was looking quite well when last I saw him. If anything, he seemed quite enthused about whatever he is calling on you for.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, my Lady. He simply requested I fetch you.”

“Very well. Give me a few minutes.”

The Warrior recognizes the hallway that she follows Julia down not a quarter bell later, as it is the same she traversed only a week or so previous. It leads to one of the palace’s private entrances, and she is quietly delighted when Julia opens the door to the outside. The sky is a moody, twilight blue, and laced with a distant hint of snow clouds. It is beautiful and peaceful, she thinks, even as the humming forms of a pair of assault craft pass overhead. 

Varis is waiting for her. To her surprise, he is not clad in his armor, though he had been when departing after lunch a bell before. The Emperor is now in some variety of court attire: black and gold with a heavy maroon cloak cast over his broad shoulders. He is not wearing his crown. Varis stands next to a covered carriage that seems small with him standing at its side. The vehicle is being pulled by lone fluffy coal black chocobo.

"Are you sure about this, sire?" She can hear Annia speaking while they approach.

"Of course I am. Do not question my judgment. I have my linkpearl should a need for it arise."

The Warrior manages not get distracted by the lovely chocobo, and keeps her focus on Varis. "What's this, then?"

"Exactly as it looks," he says. "I wanted to take you on a little ride. A tour, if you would prefer."

She glances at the carriage--it scarcely looks large enough to hold Varis, let alone the both of them. "You didn't mention it earlier."

"I wanted to surprise you." His lips curl into a hopeful smile. “Do you object?”

She looks at him, then to his guards, and lastly to the carriage. There is no driver present. “Just you and I?”

He nods. “I am capable of handling the driving.”

She studies his face for a moment, and wonders if he is up to something. They are already engaged to be wed, so he couldn’t be hoping to surprise her with that question. She cannot imagine anything else, however, so perhaps…

“Just a little private jaunt, just you and I,” Varis insists. “The empire will not fall to ruin if I take an hour or two to enjoy myself with you.”

“Alright,” she finally concedes, having no argument to so gentle a sentiment. Indeed, just the thought of getting to spend some private time with him is enough to bring a smile to her lips.

The Emperor climbs into the carriage, and then helps her up over the shaft and into the seat. He tucks a thick fleecy blanket over their laps, and then holds out two dark blue woolen lumps.

“What are these?”

“Mittens,” he says with a smile. “Don’t need your hands to get cold.”

“I--” She blushes and takes the offering. “Thank you, dear.” The Warrior does not argue that she has perfectly good gloves tucked into her coat pockets. Instead she pulls on the warm mittens and shifts her weight until she is comfortable on the seat.

Beyond the dark red fabric of the cover, she can see Julia and Annia still standing at attention.

One of them calls: "Have a safe ride."

There is little wind today, and for that the Warrior is glad. The afternoon air is already plentifully sharp and cold on its own. The Warrior keeps a fold of her scarf held protectively over the lower half of her face. Varis does not seem bothered by the cold, of course. 

For a few minutes they do not speak. The Warrior simply enjoys the dark shapes of the city as they pass by, as well as the radiant warmth of her companion. Varis is focused on the road. The reins seem small in his hands, but he is still quite adept at guiding the chocobo around the middling traffic of the early afternoon. The big bird strides along, remarkably unfazed by the clanging of machina and the shouting of soldiers.

The Warrior finds it a private relief that no one salutes at the red and black carriage as it passes by. If anyone notices who is driving the vehicle, for once they make no fuss over it. She is surprised by the feeling--it has been some time since she has experienced the quiet solace of being ignored. Rare have been the more recent times when the Warrior of Light could make her way down a busy street and not be waylaid by well-wishers or seekers of aid. Living in the palace, she had almost begun to forget. Almost--cries for the Warrior have been replaced by polite salutes and bows and a shift of title from ‘Warrior’ to ‘Lady’.

It is not long before the black and gray crush of the city gives way to the spaced out territories of the wealthy. She is uncertain if they are taking the exact same street as they did on the way to the Long Night gala, but the environment is very similar. The Warrior idly considers that perhaps she should acquire a map of the city so that she can become more familiar with its layout. There is far more of it to learn than in the cities back in Eorzea.

“Are you cold?” Varis asks. “I thought today was a good day, as the weather is relatively calm.”

She rests her head against his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“We will go a bit of a ways beyond the city. A few malms, so that you might see what lies beyond.”

“Why now?”

The Emperor grunts softly. “Just a fancy that struck me, I suppose. No real reason.”

“Are you avoiding the Senate?”

He barks a short laugh that echoes out into the cold air. “No, no. They are all busy with other duties today, and have no cause to trouble me for more of my time.” He lets out the breath of a sigh. “Tomorrow, perchance. But, not today.”

“Oh. Well, then all’s the more fortunate for us.”

“Indeed, my love.”

The Warrior cannot help but smirk at a notion. “Though, I am surprised that you have chosen this ride instead of taking me to bed for a different sort of ride.”

“Mm, there will be time for that afterwards.”

When the city outskirts have disappeared behind them, the Warrior exhales and leans back in the seat. Varis slows the chocobo’s pace.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No,” she says. “I don’t think so. Though, I must admit that I was surprised to find that there is no great wall encircling the capital city. Nothing to protect its people from outside attack.”

“The frozen wastes beyond the city are wall enough to deter those whose heart is not in their attack. Naturally, there are defenses within the city proper, and safehouses for the residents to take shelter. If any outside force should be foolish enough to assault Garlemald head on, they will not find us an easy nut to crack.”

“Oh. That is good to know, then.”

They spend the distance of several malms in peaceful, mutual silence. It is when the city is far behind them that the Warrior is struck by a nearly jarring realization.

“You know, I think that this is the most alone I’ve ever been with you.”

Varis hums thoughtfully. “Do you think so?”

“I mean, not counting the chocobo, of course. Everywhere else, there have always been other people. Soldiers and guards, looking out for your safety. There was a guard out in the hallway on the _Gration_ \--”

“Two guards,” he corrects. “You warranted two guards.”

“You locked them out,” she says. “But, I doubt the walls and door were soundproofed.”

An embarrassed noise sticks in Varis’ throat. “No, not in the holding cells.”

“Even the privacy of your quarters is something of an illusion,” the Warrior says. She rubs at her nose through the scarf. “Even when we are alone, we aren’t truly unattended. Julia and Annia are often outside the front door, and there are always more guards down the hall.”

“Do you dislike living in the palace?” She can hear the frown in his voice. “If there is something you need, you just have to tell me. Ask and I shall provide.”

“The palace is fine.” She averts her gaze out to the soft, dusky blue snowfields. “It is comfortable, and clean, and well attended… But, it isn’t home.”

“We Garleans have a saying: ' _Patria est, ubi cor est_.'"

She echoes: “‘Home is where the heart is’?”

“That’s right. Garlemald is my home, my homeland. But also, right in this moment, I feel quite at home here in this carriage with you. My heart is right here.”

“Ah, Varis--” The Warrior looks at him, and is glad that the scarf hides some of the blush on her cheeks. “That is surprisingly sentimental, coming from you.”

“Are you so truly surprised? My grandsire often chastised me for being too sentimental to be effective.”

“I--I’m not complaining.” She smiles. “Your grandsire was powerful, but more and more I find his wisdom to be somewhat questionable.”

A faint sigh. “Indeed.”

“I don’t mind it, being out here alone with you, if that had you worried. Quite the opposite.” She pats his arm. “I feel perfectly safe.”

“And I feel perfectly safe at your side,” he says. The Emperor chuckles. “Isn’t that a marvel?”

“It is indeed.”

Varis draws the chocobo to a stop. The Warrior considers the long ribbon of road that disappears off into the hazy distance.

“Is there not much traffic heading into the city?”

“Not when there is nothing going on,” he says. “The city is mostly self-contained, and the majority of our imports arrive via air transport.” He stretches his leg out before him, knee cracking just before his boot toe grazes the chocobo’s tail feathers. “This road was much busier when I was young. But time changes things. It has changed me as much as it has this road.”

The Warrior wants to say that she knows the feeling, that though her years are nearly two decades fewer than his, she still knows what it feels like to change. Just the last few years--hells, the last few months--have brought changes to her and her worldview that she could not have anticipated in times previous. Instead, she just nods at his words.

Varis falls silent and stares out at the cloudy horizon while the chocobo rests. The Warrior watches him before letting her gaze drift out as well, to take in the peaceful scenery. She wonders what secrets and monsters might still dwell in the distant, dark forests that trace the northern skyline. It is a different sort of wilderness from the raging frigid wastes that have encircled Ishgard following the Calamity. The locals here have spent centuries taming and cultivating their frozen homeland into a place that is not a complete misery to live in. She hopes that someday Ishgard might be able to do the same.

“There are times that I envy you,” Varis says, breaking his quietude. The Warrior blinks and looks to his profile. He is still staring out at the horizon. “I envy the life that I have… stolen you from.”

She does not correct him. “How so?”

“The life of an adventurer. Though dangerous and fraught with the uncertainty of where your next coin will come from, it is still a life of freedom.” A whistle from the chocobo nearly masks his sigh.

She knows he is not the first noble to take fancy with the overly romantic view of adventuring. There is no fault to it--she has met enough of the upper crust in her travels to know that the same walls that provide security are also viewed by some as a gilded cage. It is of little surprise to her that a man like Varis, who has spent nearly his whole life at war for the sake of Garlemald, might on occasion wish to have taken an alternate route.

Part of him does not want to go back to the palace, she thinks. He wants to run away, to live his own life, free of the weight of responsibility that he has spent his years so feverishly pursuing.

“Surely you have access to land out here,” she says. “Find a place to build a cozy little cottage where you can while away your free time in quiet.”

The Emperor grunts softly, but she still catches the subtle softening of his features. “Someday, perhaps.” He looks down at her and flashes a rueful smile. “But, I am quite certain that trouble would still find me out here.”

She pouts playfully. “Then, I will scare it away for you.”

“That is very kind of you.” Varis presses his chilled lips to her forehead. “Unfortunately, there are some troubles that even you cannot scatter for me.”

The Warrior cannot help but sigh at this notion, and looks away. She knows that Varis is not referring to the Senate or his court or the other hangers-on that plague his daily business. They can all be readily dismissed and turned away until the next day. There is but one bother Varis cannot readily escape, because it is bound to him by his own blood.

A question escapes her before she can draw it back into her thoughts. “Tell me, Varis. Have you ever tried just… talking to him?”

For a moment he does not respond, and she begins to wonder if he is avoiding her inquiry. Then: “What?”

“To Zenos. To your son. Have you ever just sat down and talked with him?”

She glances at him, and can see him staring at her with widened, disbelieving eyes. “Zenos is not someone that you just talk to, Warrior. You give him orders, and he begrudgingly follows them.”

“So, no, you haven’t.”

Varis sighs and averts his gaze. “The time to talk to Zenos as father to son has long passed. I am the emperor, and he is a legatus. And that is all that remains.”

“I just--”

“Why are you so preoccupied with the matter of Zenos?” The words are nearly snapped at her. “Why can you not be content to accept that he is what he is, and that there is naught to be done for him now? Why can you not accept that I am trying to protect you from him?”

The Warrior does not give an immediate response. For a moment she simply observes him. She takes in the weak gleam of the sun on his pale hair, and the slightly dejected shift to his posture. She feels pity for the man, but also a puzzled sense of frustration.

“If you hate your son so much, why name him as your heir? Why put him into a position of power, when most would leave him rotting in a gaol or a hole in the ground?”

Varis does not respond.

His silence is tangible in the air, awkward and uncomfortable against her skin. She looks down at the glossy gray-black feathers of the chocobo, at the stones visible through the snow beneath the side of the carriage--anything to not focus on his face. She wonders if perhaps it would be best were she to apologize for driving him to his outburst.

Varis sighs.

“I do not hate Zenos. But, neither do I think I am fit to love the boy.”

She presses: “You won’t know unless you try.”

Varis grimaces. “And what would you have me say to him? That I am sorry I failed to be there sufficiently for him in his childhood? That I put my duty to our nation above my duty to him?”

“It would be a start.”

“He would simply laugh at me and call me weak and unfit to rule.”

“Perhaps, but it would at least be an attempt to speak with him.”

The Emperor rubs a gloved hand over his face. “I do not think that Zenos has any desire to speak with me. Scarcely as his emperor, and even less as his father.”

“Would you consider the possibility of trying? Not for me, but for your own sake, Varis.”

His fingers pinch at the point of his chin. “I will… consider it.”

“Thank you.”

Varis is quiet again as he gives a light flick of the reins. The carriage slowly stirs once more into motion, and he guides the vehicle in a gentle turn. Homeward bound now, it is not long before the dark shapes of the capital city gradually begin to become visible on the horizon.

He again draws the chocobo to a stop.

“Mayhap you are right,” he murmurs. The Emperor turns his eyes to one of the rolling snowy hills. “This might be a nice location for a little… cottage. To get away from the fuss of the palace and the city. A place--” He falters, and his cheeks turn red beyond their existing flush from the cold.

She smiles. “What sort of place?”

“Ah--” He swallows, and looks back to the woman at his side, and returns her smile. “It could be a pleasant place to bring our children.”

The Warrior shifts herself closer to the Emperor, and tucks her wool clad hands around his arm. She does consider it a possibility, but cannot fathom the time. There are still too many battles left for her to fight.

Still, she cannot help but smile again at his suggestion.

“Yes, it could be. One day.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Chapter 30! In celebration, it's um... it's mostly just smut to be honest.
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

On the next Darksday, Varis chooses to work from at home in his office. The Warrior keeps him company this time, silently citing his somewhat sour expression as a good reason to linger on the couch in the study. He is more taciturn than is his custom, and only breaks the silence with a request for more coffee after two bells. The Emperor is yet pleasant to her, and she is permitted to perch on his knee while he sips his coffee and mutters complaints about some of the more troublesome realms that his grandsire conquered in the last few years before his death.

“If I did not think otherwise, I would be nearly inclined to believe that he conquered some of these lands just to cause his successor trouble once he was gone.”

“What makes you so certain that he didn’t?”

Varis purses his lips for a moment before drawling: “It is all for the glory of Garlemald.”

The Warrior offers a sympathetic smile. “I suppose, in a logistical sense, if your grandsire had truly intended on conquering the entirety of the star, then that would include the more irritating and otherwise unpleasant locations as well.”

“The ones that he simply did not destroy outright, yes.” Varis pats her hip. “Alright, down you get. I’ve another dozen reports to get through before lunch, and you must be itching to return to whatever book it is you’ve had your nose in all morning.”

She returns to her feet and presses a kiss to his cheek. “It’s a story from the time of Allag. There’s a palace guard, and he is married to this beautiful Elezen dancing girl. But, one of the king’s advisors is this old sorcerer who seduces the poor dancing girl.”

Varis tips his head and watches as she rounds the sofa. “And then what happens?”

She shrugs and settles onto the cushions. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I’ll let you know, later.”

After the midday meal, Varis remains lounging in his usual seat. He turns an empty mug in his fingers, and pays no mind to the servants who pass through to collect the depleted dishware. He only blinks out of his languor when the Warrior presses the back of her hand to the right side of his forehead.

“What are you doing?”

She smiles and pats his cheek. “You’ve been acting out of sorts. I was just checking to see if you felt warm. You know, in case you were taking ill again.”

“I’m fine.” Varis sighs and leans forward, depositing his mug on the table. He studies it for a moment before looking over his shoulder. “You haven’t gone to the training center yet today, have you?”

“No, my dear Emperor, I have been at your side all the while.”

“Hm. I think we should go and do a bit of sparring.”

She chuckles and pats his shoulder. “Morning reports that rough, Your Radiance?”

“Perhaps so. ‘Tis easier when their writers are in front of me and I can just yell at them.” Varis pushes to his feet. “Also: despite my insistence to the otherwise, seeing that I am the emperor and all, the medicus has scheduled me for a physical. I don’t need to give him any excuse to mock my royal personage.”

Now she laughs and stands, stretching to pull his face down for a quick kiss. “Well, then I shall have to give you a proper working over, won’t I?”

Varis spends a short while longer grumbling through his stack of reports before they change into their training gear and head to the other side of the palace. There, the pair is somewhat chagrined to learn that, due to some malfunctions in the air circulation system, the training center rooms are noticeably warmer than normal. They decide to stick it out, taking the room at the end of the corridor and shucking out of their usual extra layers until both are just in their carbonweave kit.

This goes well enough for the first round of practice. Training together has been beneficial for them both--chasing after the Warrior has helped increase the big man’s overall agility, while the Warrior has put an extra measure into her own brute strength to handle the Emperor when he catches her. However, with the cooling system down, it is sweaty business. Partway through the second bout the Warrior has to stop and tug at the tight black fabric to wipe at the sweat that is tickling between her breasts.

“It is getting awfully hot in here,” she says. “Perhaps we should call it a day and head back.”

“Perhaps we ought.”

There is a catch to Varis’ voice that she recognizes, and it gives her pause as she discards the small towel. She looks up at him, observes the careful neutrality on his flushed cheeks, and then looks lower. She bites at her lower lip as her gaze settles on his trousers, and how the carbonweave strains over his groin.

“It is a pity that we can’t just teleport back to our quarters,” she whispers. Varis arches a brow, looking at her face and then glancing downwards.

“And, why is that, my love?”

“Because, it is going to be a very long walk back there.”

There is a long moment of silence between them. A heavy pause, during which the Warrior sees her beloved’s pale eyes scope out the chamber door before returning to her. She sees the tip of his tongue catch briefly between his teeth before he speaks.

“Why must we walk back?” He gestures idly behind them. “The door is locked. No one can see what we do in here.”

“They’ll hear us,” she says. Despite her protest, she steps closer and presses her palms to his concealed cock. Varis’ hips rock forward to apply himself firmly to her touch.

He breathes out a low groan. “And if they do?”

The Warrior is fully aware of the heat of the blush on her cheeks. “I--it would be--”

“Not the first time that someone has heard us.”

She gasps, knowing that he is right, and looks up into his eyes. They are darkened with his desire. “Do you wish to?”

“I do. I want to make you moan my name and let the nosy fellows out in the corridor know that the Emperor has indeed found his queen.” He rocks his hips again into her hands. 

“Oh, and I have found my king.” She slides one hand down to test the restrained heft of his manhood. He hisses her name out between his teeth. The Warrior rises up on her toes and kisses at his chin. “I want you to fuck me into the wall.”

He groans: “Gladly!”

She takes a few steps to the wall and turns, resting her elbows against the padding. The Emperor is quick to move behind her, and his breath is warm against her ear as he grinds his hips to hers.

His hands push up the front of her top and then meet at the clasps of her bra. Her breasts spill out into the cool air as he deftly releases the little metal hooks. She gasps and jerks her hips against his as his hands move to claim each breast. His long fingers squeeze at her soft flesh, thumb and forefinger finding her nipples and teasing them into hardness.

She grinds urgently against the swelling in his trousers. “Oh, Varis, please--”

The Emperor’s hands leave her breasts with a final squeeze, and his presence at her back lessens as he takes a half step away. His big hands slide down over her belly and to the waistline of her carbonweave trousers. He easily loosens the lacing at the front and tugs the snug fabric down to her knees. Her smallclothes follow in short order, and the Warrior shivers as the cool air teases against her tingling skin. The chill is swiftly replaced by warmth as Varis’ right hand moves between her thighs from behind. The left hand rests on her hip, holding her steady as she bucks eagerly into the contact.

“Varis!”

“Patience,” he rumbles. The tip of his forefinger traces a line along her slit, just parting the folds with the second pass. The Warrior squirms and shifts her knees apart to encourage his entrance. “You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know, I just--ah!” She gasps as the first finger enters her. Her muscles immediately tense, drawing the digit in, and she is rewarded by the stretching press of the middle finger joining the first.

"Very nearly drenched already, my dear." His tone is as teasing as his touch. The tip of his ring finger strokes at the bottom of her slit even as the first two fingers begin to fuck her. "Open for me, love."

The Warrior muffles a squeal against her arm as the third thick finger joins in on the next thrust. Her hips twitch at the sensation of being stretched open for the Emperor.

"Oh, s'good--" She bites her lip and tries to hold back a moan as his thumb rubs against her clit. The touch sends a jolt through her body, and she pushes her bottom against his hand. "Varis!"

"Patience," he purrs again. She bucks with need.

After a few minutes of preparation, Varis withdraws his fingers. The Warrior is only half aware of him freeing himself from his trousers and coating the head with her wetness.

"There's a good girl. Just relax…"

There is the familiar density of the head rubbing against her slit. She shivers eagerly as it parts her slick folds. It takes all the Warrior's self restraint to not just slam her hips back to guide the rest in. Fortunately, this time he is not slow and teasing, and it only takes a few jerks of his hips to hilt himself in her.

She cries out his name again. For a moment Varis is still, and she enjoys the fullness and weight of him inside her. Then he slides back out, until the tip bumps teasingly against her clit.

She moans with uncaring volume as he thrusts into her. Her back arches into his chest, and the majority of her weight settles against her forearms. Varis' hands hook over the front of her thighs, both holding her open to his thrusts and nearly lifting her toes from the floor with the leverage. Her nails dig at the padding as he begins thrusting in earnest.

"Ahh--Varis--aah!"

He has no witty comebacks for her, and can only echo her breathless, fervent cries as he drives their hips together. For some time this is enough--the fullness of him inside her, the song of their mingled cries, the soft, rhythmic slap of skin against skin…

She shifts her weight off one arm and lowers her hand between her parted thighs. Her trembling fingers find where they are joined, and Varis groans as she traces the slick thickness of him. The urgent pumping of his hips stills. His breath gasps hot against her back, waiting as she runs her fingers around the girth of him. The first breath of a moan escapes her as she feels how perfectly stretched around him she is.

“Oh--!” She barely has to brush her fingers over the sensitive bud that crowns her opening before her legs begin to tremble. The Warrior clenches on him, a blissful wail escaping her as she comes.

Eager to join her, Varis’ hips snap forward once, twice--on the third thrust his whole being jerks with his release. She is nearly overwhelmed by the exhilaration that floods her at the feeling of his seed spilling into her.

She is still hazily enjoying the feeling when Varis lets out a shaky breath and takes a few hasty steps to the weight lifting bench. He carries her along for the trip. When he sits, it jolts his softening cock inside her, and the Warrior lets out a breathy yelp.

“Varis!”

Her name is whispered hoarsely into her hair. A big hand moves from her hip to slide up to her abdomen. His fingers fan in a reverent caress over her belly, and she shivers against him despite the heat in the room. His hand moves lower and carefully withdraws his cock from the hungry grip of her lower lips. She squirms at the separation and draws her knees together.

“Well!” she says, finally finding some semblance of vocabulary returning to her. “That was quite the workout.”

The Emperor chuckles and kisses her brow. “Aye, it certainly was.”

The Warrior does her best to keep a straight face as she walks alongside Varis out of the training room. The halls are conspicuously absent of people, and the few standing at the reception area all look away at their passing. The Warrior hopes that her cheeks are not too red. She can feel the Emperor’s seed pooling in her smallclothes with each step, and knows she will not make it very far before her panties are completely stained through with him.

Varis exhales softly when the door closes behind him. He waits until they are nearly out of earshot of the guard before speaking.

“Are you alright?”

“I--” She swallows. “Admittedly a little sore from that workout, Your Radiance.”

He smiles. “Is there aught I can do to help?”

She licks her lips, barely able to focus on anything but the wetness between her thighs. “I want to go back to our suite, and I want you to fuck me into the mattress.”

Varis nearly misses his next step. “Oh?”

“I--I--” She blurts out, heedless of the next guard visible down the corridor: “I want you to breed me again. Even if it is just--just practice.”

He whispers: “You keep on like that and we won’t back it back to my bed.”

Varis nearly tears the carbonweave off of the Warrior once they have made it back to the royal chambers. He holds her knees apart and ducks between her thighs. Varis laps at the wetness that shines on her skin before plunging his tongue between her folds. The Emperor’s delight in tasting himself in her is obvious, as his cock is already hard again when he frees himself from his trousers.

“Varis, please,” she gasps.

He grins down at her. “You need only ask.”

There is a weight on the Warrior’s chest when she rouses some time later. It is the Emperor, dozing peacefully with his cheek pillowed against her left breast. A slight shift of her weight sends a jolt of discomfort through her body, so she stills. It is enough to draw Varis from his slumber. His hair tickles against her bare skin as he groans into her breast.

“We may have overdone it,” he mumbles. The Warrior lifts a hand and threads her fingers through the silky strands of his hair.

“I--I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

He nuzzles at her skin. “There is no need to apologize for feeling excessively amorous.”

She thinks back to their frantic coupling in the training room. “It was good. I mean--I liked it.”

“There is little doubt for that,” he murmurs. “In fact, I should think most of the far wing of the palace can vouch for you on that subject.”

She gives his hair a little tug, but Varis just chuckles.

“I think we ought to clean up before supper is delivered.”

“We should probably bathe separately,” she says. “Otherwise, we’ll never get clean.”

Varis kisses at her nipple. “Perhaps that was part of the plan.” He moves away and helps her into a seated position. She follows the line of his gaze down to the junction of her thighs--the skin there is still reddened and wet. “Are you sore?”

“A little,” she admits. “But, in a good way!”

“Well then,” he says. “I will have to clean you up in a good way.”

“That’s far from promising--!” The Warrior squeals out a little laugh as Varis’ arms hook around her and haul her close. “Varis!”

The Emperor kisses at whatever skin is closest as he moves to stand--the curve of her shoulder, the trembling long line of her neck, her chin, and her lips as he sets her on her unsteady feet. She hooks her fingers around his arm as he leads the way to the bathing room. He walks slowly, his steps almost cautious, as though the floor were slick with ice. Once arrived, she waits as her companion heads over to the bathtub. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” the Warrior says as she watches Varis start the flow of water into the basin. He makes a curious noise as he rights himself, a hand resting casually on his hip. “I--” She stops, considering the gravity of her next words. “I do wish to have your child someday, Varis. But, I do not know when the right time for that will be. The world is so fraught with danger, and constantly on the edge of calamity. The primals and the Ascians, and--” She shakes her head.

Varis looks pensive--well, as thoughtful as he can while standing in the nude with his cock half-awake.

“I understand your concern. And I understand that you are the Warrior of Light, and that your first duty must be to the safety of the star.” He steps toward her. “I feel similarly burdened by my role as Emperor. But--it is a duty that, at the end of the day, I am happy to have. And I will readily share the weight of the world with you.”

“But, then how can--” She quiets as he touches his finger to her lips.

“The world has always been in peril. It has been falling from one disaster to the next longer than any of us know. If we wait for the right time, for the cycle to be broken, there will never be any time to do anything for ourselves.”

She whispers: “Then, what do we do?”

He takes her left hand and kisses the black band on her ring finger. “We have already taken the first step.” Varis smiles. “We will wed, and together we will find a way to bring some semblance of peace and stability to both my world and yours. And, should time permit, mayhap we will create a child or three.”

“Oh.” She blushes. “It all sounds so easy when you say it like that.”

He bends and kisses her. “The saying is the easy part.”

She chases his lips. “I am half inclined to say that the doing seems like it will be possible too, as long as we are together.”

“‘Tis a grand feeling, is it not?” At her nod, Varis smiles. “I am glad we are in agreement.”

They stand, pressed side to side, their mutual quiet masked by the rush of the water from the spigot. A low, nearly mischievous hum rumbles in Varis’ throat as he stands at her side. His hand settles on her rump. It slides down, his fore and middle fingers teasing at the still tender skin between her thighs. She gasps as the fingers slide into her, easily probing to the second knuckle. They curl inside her, and she shivers against his side.

“Hells, Varis,” she hisses. “I’m going to need to take a second dose today at this rate.”

“If you wish.”

“Ah--” Her cheeks darken. “We shouldn’t--I mean, I--” She shakes her head. “Let me keep taking the pills. At least until we are wed.”

“Of course, my love. It is entirely your choice.”

She smiles. “Thank you, Varis.”

His response is a slight curling of his fingers. The Warrior shivers again and wishes that the bathtub would hurry up and finish filling.

At this rate, they will miss dinner.


	31. Chapter 31

The pile of papers on the desk in the study is an interminable thing. The Warrior of Light is not entirely sure whence they come or why there are always so many of them piled on the smooth surface of the hardwood. Does the Emperor not have a proper office somewhere to deal with paperwork? She wonders why he is permitted no peace, even in what should be his personal sanctuary.

“I do have an office,” Varis admits when she asks one evening after dinner. “But, I do not care to spend much time there. So, pressing documents are delivered here when I am not at court.”

“What’s wrong with your office?”

His nose wrinkles and he brings his glass of whisky to his lips. “It reeks of the old man.”

“Oh.” The Warrior wonders how much of the time the well-aged Emperor might have spent in his office that wasn’t occupied by napping. “Why not just clean it out? Or get a new office?”

Varis grimaces again. “I just… haven’t.”

She notes his frown and backs off the subject. “Do you ever get missives that relate to me?”

“Not so many as of late. In times past I used to get a weekly summary of whatever disruptive behavior the Warrior of Light had been engaged with against imperial properties.” He glances at her, and she feels her cheeks heat.

Taking a hurried sip of her wine, she mumbles: “I was just doing my job.”

“I know.” Varis looks in the direction of the papers on his desk for a moment. “Speaking of you doing your job: it has been some three months now since I signed the final paperwork freeing Doma.”

“Has it been that long?” She considers. “I’m not sure if it feels like it has been longer or shorter. It’s been a busy time.”

The smile he flashes at her is indulgent, plainly pleased with some of the events of the last few months. “Indeed it has.” He huffs a sigh into his glass. “I need to send a representative on my behalf to Doma, to see how things are progressing. The reports I have received thus far have been fairly scant on the details.”

Impulsively, she says: “I’ll do it.” Varis blinks and looks at her. His thin brows furrow for a moment, and he shakes his head.

“No, there’s no need for you to go to Doma.”

“I’ve never been there. I mean, it would be interesting to see the place.”

The shade of a pout crosses over the Emperor’s lips. “I do not wish you to go away. You should stay here.”

“Ah--” The Warrior laughs softly. “It would only be a short survey, wouldn’t it? I’d be gone for less than a week, like as not. And you could call me on a linkpearl if you got too lonesome.”

He shakes his head again. “No, no, you can’t.”

“What, you don’t think I’m capable of being your envoy?”

“You are completely capable of the task. I simply do not want you to.”

This is rather childish of him, she thinks, but also she believes she understands where his petulance is coming from. “I’ll come back. This would not be like... like the last time. You would not be sending me away. I would be venturing out on your behalf.” She lifts her left hand and presses the black band against his stubble speckled cheek. “I will not change my mind.”

Varis’ throat shifts as he swallows, and he presses into her touch. “If you go as my envoy, you will have to have an escort. And follow certain protocols. And likely deal with some level of hostility from the locals. There will certainly be some for whom freedom without further bloodshed is not enough.”

She manages not to outright roll her eyes at his protests. “I have faced worse dangers. Issue me a bodyguard, if you truly think I would need someone to look after me.”

“You are going to insist upon this?” He sounds slightly aggravated at her persistence. “What interest could you have in the country?”

“As I said: I’ve never been there. Think of it, Varis. I freed a whole nation of people, only a small portion of which I’ve ever met. I recall the Domans being a pleasant enough people when I aided them in Eorzea. It would be interesting to see the lands that they came from. Or, at least, what remains of them.”

The Emperor grunts softly. “There are projects underway aiding in the re-establishment of the nation’s infrastructure, as well as various construction projects. My envoy would primarily be tasked with inspecting the progress of these ventures.”

“A task I would gladly complete, as long as you don’t take offense if I am honest in my observations.”

She twists a length of silvery hair around her fingers as she watches him. Varis plainly is still not happy with her volunteering for the work in Doma, but she can also see his eyes flick from side to side in thought.

“You worry about my safety going there, that I will face hostility. Perhaps I will, but who better to send to check on the progress of the imperial extraction than the very person responsible for freeing them from their bondage?” She gives his hair a light tug. “You can only be so hostile to your hero.”

“Perhaps so,” he murmurs. Another sigh escapes him. “Fine, you may have the job. I will make travel arrangements and alert the embassy in Kugane of your arrival.” Varis stares at his glass for a moment. “And, I will have to find an escort for you. Someone from the palace guard will do, I should think.”

The Warrior smiles and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, my Emperor.”

He looks at her and flashes a wan smile. “Do not thank me yet. You will be going to Doma with work to do.”

“Of course.”

“It will be a few days before you will depart.” He cups her cheek in his big hand and draws his thumb in a line over her lips. “In the meantime, I am going to make the most of your company.”

The Emperor’s attentions to his future bride border on excessive in the days that follow, but even his greatest efforts can not indefinitely forestall the arrival of the Warrior’s departure. On the designated morning the great man is sullen, head heavy against her breasts as the first light of morning peeks around the edges of the curtains.

“I’m excited,” she says. Her fingers comb through her lover’s long hair. She feels, rather than hears, his discontent rumble. “It’s been awhile since I’ve traveled.”

“The adventurer is wont to wander.”

The Warrior smiles. “Yes, that’s right.” She has spent what time she could over the last few days reviewing reports regarding Doma, and studying the list of expectations that the Emperor has for his envoy. It is mostly busy work, she surmises, going between a half dozen locations to see that the remaining Garlean forces are not being a hindrance to the efforts of the newly freed Doman people. There are several large scale construction projects the Empire has promised to aid in before completely retreating out of the territory, and Varis would see to it that they are being properly implemented.

He rumbles again. “I will miss you.”

She knows he will. “And I will miss you.”

“Will you?”

“Of course. Sleeping alone isn’t all that much fun once you’ve gotten used to having someone to snuggle with.”

Varis hums softly into her skin. “Be sure to sleep alone.”

The Warrior laughs and gives his hair a light tug. “Silly man. You know I will.”

He murmurs: “I know.”

She strokes her fingers through his hair. “I want you to promise me that you won’t mope about while I am gone. Garlemald still needs its emperor.”

“I am yet loath to be parted from you.”

“I know, I know.” She sighs and shifts her weight, eyeing the line of silver visible at the edge of the curtains. “Perhaps one day we will be able to go on a trip together. Would you like that?”

“I have never had much opportunity for recreational travel,” the Emperor says. “Though, a spot of it is traditional following the exchange of marriage vows in Garlemald.”

“Good. You should think of where you would like to go, then. Distract your thoughts with that while I am away.”

“Eorzea,” he says, but his tone leaves her wondering if he is joking or not.

“You can likely buy your way into a few places, if you don’t mind the stares.”

Varis grunts. He shifts his weight and half rolls onto his side. “I stopped minding the stares a long time ago.”

The Warrior takes this opportunity to shift into a seated position. She idly presses a healing spell into the coloring of a mark on her shoulder. “What is my itinerary for today?”

“Your flight departs just before the mid-day bells. I will escort you to the docks and pass you on to the watchful eyes of your guard. You should arrive in Kugane late in the afternoon, perhaps early evening, depending on the weather. The Garlean embassy in Kugane will see to your accommodations and transportation while you are working in Othard.”

“You really insisted on finding someone to escort me,” she says. She does not bother to hide her flustered amusement.

“Of course I did,” Varis says.

“I suppose I should be flattered by your concern for my well being.” The Warrior smirks. “Or your desire to have someone keeping an eye on me so I do not cause trouble.”

“You are the Warrior of Light.” He winks at her. “It is ever your wont to cause trouble in your wandering.”

“Indeed.” She laughs and shakes her head. Varis sighs.

“Promise you’ll contact me via linkpearl when you are safe in Kugane.” He gestures at his ear. “I had a new linkpearl commissioned for you; it will be waiting for you in your quarters at the consulate.”

“Thank you, Varis.” She touches the hard line of his jaw. “I promise, I will keep in daily contact with you.”

He sighs again, but looks relieved. 

The hours pass, perhaps too quickly for the liking of the Emperor of Garlemald, and a bell before midday the Warrior is holding her lover’s hand as they walk to the docks. She is dressed in her adventuring gear, which fortunately still fits properly after a few moons of neglect. A lone pack is slung over her shoulder, the rest of her gear--Garlean crafted armor included--having been packed and already added to the transport that will take her to Doma. Varis’ grip on her hand is nearly crushing, and she is quite certain that her engagement ring will leave an imprint on the leather of his glove.

The Warrior tries not to think of the last time she left Garlemald from these docks. A glance up makes her think Varis is trying to accomplish the same.

“Your gunblade is stowed with your armor.” His breath steams in the frozen morning air. “Kugane is a mostly neutral territory, hence our having a consulate there. They frown upon violence in their city. Quite rigorously.”

“I see. I will have to be on my best behavior, then.”

“I trust that you will.” Varis looks to the bay where the transport is waiting. “Ah, good, they are already here.”

The Warrior makes a curious noise and follows the line of his gaze. Several soldiers are standing near the open doors of the vessel.

“I told them to be here early. I am glad that my orders were not neglected.”

She pats his arm with her free hand. “They had no reason not to.”

The Emperor grunts softly and releases his grip on her left hand. She flexes her fingers as she follows him over the walkway. The soldiers all snap to attention at his approach and salute.

Varis gestures at a centurion that stands near the transport. They are tall and still, and have a bag slung over their right shoulder.

“This will be your escort and guard during your time in Doma,” Varis says. “Caspian quo Maristella. They’re one of the best of the palace guard.”

The centurion crisply salutes as Varis and the Warrior approach, without dislodging their pack. “It is an honor, Your Radiance.”

“Indeed.” The Emperor stares critically at the centurion before gesturing at the Warrior. “Centurion, this is Lady Lux van Umbrus. Your sole concern from now until she returns to the palace is her safety and well being.”

“Understood, Your Radiance.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caspian,” the Warrior says, trying to make her tone as polite as she can manage. She still finds it a bit silly that Varis insists on her having a guard, as though the slayer of eikons and savior of half the world truly needs a babysitter. Thinking of her past encounters with imperial officers, she idly hopes that she does not have to end up rescuing them from some trouble abroad.

The centurion nods. “The pilots have reported being ready to depart at your convenience.”

“Thank you.” Despite the casual air to Varis’ tone, the Warrior is aware of him tensing. She touches the back of his gauntlet.

“I am ready to go, when you’re ready to let me,” she says. Varis turns his face away from the gathered soldiers and grimaces.

His voice barely reaches her ears. “Never again. I will never send you away again.”

“I know.” The Warrior touches his arm and turns the Emperor until his back is fully to the soldiers and his body is blocking their line of sight to her.

Varis whispers her name.

“This is not a parting like last time,” she says in a gentle tone. She presses her palm to his cheek. “This time I leave with the knowledge that I will be returning home in a few days' time.”

“Home,” he echoes, awestruck.

The Warrior turns to Julia and Annia, who are waiting their usual respective distance away. “Please make sure he behaves himself. I don’t want to hear about him pining while I am away.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” Julia says.

Varis huffs. “I will be fine.”

The Warrior touches his chin and smiles. “And I will call you when I reach Kugane.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead and then clears his throat. “Safe travels, Lady van Umbrus.”

“Thank you, Your Radiance.”

The transport departs from the capital and heads on a southeasterly course toward Kugane. It is a vessel meant for transporting troops, but she is the only real intended traveller on this journey. She sits on one of the somewhat uncomfortable seats arranged in a line that faces another in the hold. The Warrior is secretly glad for the quiet company of her escort. They stand at rest in the doorway that separates the passenger hold from the cockpit. It is impossible to tell through the helmet, but she suspects the centurion is staring at her.

Perhaps taking the Emperor’s orders a bit too much to heart, she thinks. 

After nearly an hour of mutual silence, during which the Warrior scans through the paperwork she was given during her last debriefing and the centurion stands still and does not move, she sighs and tosses the packet of papers into the empty seat next to her.

“Good thing I brought a book,” she muses aloud. There is no response from her guard. “Do you think they’ll provide food if the flight runs long?”

“I do not believe so,” the centurion says, finally breaking their silence.

“Ah, so you are listening.”

“Of course.” They hesitate and shift on their feet. “However, I am a guard. We aren’t meant to speak.”

“A palace guard.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“So, you’ve seen me before, around the palace?”

Their shoulders shift minutely in a shrug. “A few times, yes. I tend to be stationed in a different wing from where the Emperor’s quarters are located.”

There is something to the centurion’s muffled accent that sounds vaguely familiar to the Warrior, almost like that of a merchant barking from their stall in Ul’dah. “Have you been in service to the Empire long?”

Another barely perceptible moment of hesitation. “More than a decade.”

“I see.”

The Warrior retrieves her book and begins to read. After another hour, she has grown bored of her book and slightly irritated by being stared at by the centurion. She wonders how Varis handles having two guards following him around all day. After so long he is likely used to it, but perhaps also Julia and Annia are better about not staring at their charge. She marks her page and looks over to the centurion, who has yet to move from their post.

“You can sit, if you want,” she says. “We still have a few hours, and I’m not going anywhere. There’s no sense in you just standing there.”

They are definitely staring at her now. “It is no trouble. Standing is part of my duties.”

“Yes, well, your duties are getting on my nerves.”

She is surprised to hear a soft chuckle come through the faceplate. “My commander warned me that you might be a difficult charge.”

“I’m the Warrior of Light,” she says. “I protect people--I don’t need someone to protect me.”

For a moment the centurion is quiet. Their head cants to the side slightly in thought. Then: “In Garlemald, solo missions are something of a rarity. It is viewed as being far safer to send two, especially when heading into unknown territory.”

“Even when the second is a liability?”

The guard’s posture stiffens, and they do not reply. The Warrior is quite certain that she has wounded their pride, but she cannot help but recall how many men and women in that same uniform she has cut down over the years. Cut down in the name of Eorzea and its freedom.

And now she is sitting in a transport of Eorzea’s enemy, riding off to perform a service for the enemy’s leader. The man she loves.

The Warrior rubs her forehead. She is uncertain whether she will ever be able to completely resolve the incongruity between the dichotomy that has formed in her life. It will likely be impossible, unless she is able to find a way to broker peace between the Alliance and the Empire.

She does not remember volunteering for such a monumental task, but it has become her duty.

A quarter bell passes. The Warrior is studying a page in her book without really reading it when the centurion shifts their weight and moves away from the doorway. They sit in the middle seat of the opposing row of chairs, their posture stiff as they cross their arms and stare in the direction of the cockpit.

She considers the discarded stack of papers laying next to her, and calls across the rows of seats. “Have you ever been to Doma before?”

The centurion doesn’t immediately respond. When they do, it is with a hint of hesitation. “Were you asking me, my Lady?”

The Warrior glances around the cabin of the craft. Aside from the crew, they are still alone. She gestures at the empty seats surrounding them. “Yes, centurion. Am I not allowed to talk to you now?”

“I--” Her guard falters and shakes their head. “I was not expecting it, that is all. My apologies.”

She wonders if Varis told the guard that they should be seen and not heard, or perhaps their ego is still smarting from her earlier barb. “I do not know how His Radiance instructed you for this duty, but you have my permission to speak when you feel the need.”

They consider this, and then nod. “Oh. Thank you, Lady Lux.”

She feels a bit peculiar being called by the false name, but does not correct them. It is something, she supposes, that she will have to get used to. Instead she studies the centurion’s armor. It is neatly kept, but unremarkable from any other officer she has seen of the Empire. The only things of note are slight protrusions on each side of the helm.

“You’re an Elezen?” The question escapes her before she thinks upon it.

“I am, yes.” They tilt their head. “Is that a problem?”

“More a curiosity.” She settles into the soft cushion of the seat. “So, Doma?”

“No, my Lady.” They are quiet, then carefully add: “But, I have heard that their cuisine is quite enjoyable.”

“We’ll have to check it out.”

A soft noise of surprise escapes the centurion. “If you insist.”

“Well, you’re stuck shadowing me until we return to the palace, right? I’m not cruel enough to find something delicious to eat and make you watch without sharing.”

They lean back in their seat and shake their head. “Then, perhaps you truly are the hero that Eorzea thinks you to be, Lady Lux.”

The sky beyond the small observation windows has already begun to bleed from blue to red by the time the transport arrives in Kugane. The centurion returns to their feet as the pilots announce the approach to the airship dock. The Warrior gathers her book and paperwork and returns them to her pack. She tries to remember the name of the man who is supposed to meet her at the docks and bring her to the Garlean consulate, but fails. She is still peering at the first page of her paperwork when the vessel shudders slightly beneath her and comes to a stop.

Her guard disembarks first, doing a quick check of the docks before giving the okay for the Warrior to follow. They are making a show of their duties, and she is too weary from the long flight to feel like admonishing them for their enthusiasm. Glancing around, the first thing the Warrior notices is that, despite the cool evening air, there is not a speck of snow to be seen anywhere in the port city. She smiles to herself. Spending so much time in Garlemald, it is nearly possible to forget that such things can occur.

She feels a rush of excitement, reminded of the first time she stepped off the airship in Limsa Lominsa. The air of Kugane is full of a similar energy, something unique to a port city. The salty spray of the ocean mingles with the smell of cooking food and other mysteries, and the Warrior wonders if she has any free time in her schedule to do a survey of the port.

For now such curiosities will have to wait, as she is greeted by a Garlean soldier in a peculiar uniform that she hasn’t seen before. It is of different ornamentation and style, and the Warrior suspects that the Empire sometimes allows its own style to be influenced by the local culture of their conquered peoples. The salute is the same, which is familiar enough for the Warrior. She returns the gesture, and this pleases the soldier. They prattle on cheerfully while leading the way to the consulate. The centurion trails a few paces behind her.

“The Kogane Dori is ahead. That’s the markets. A bit unseemly at times, but we still get some of our supplies from the merchants, and they accept Garlean coin as readily as any other, even with the recent change of power in Doma…” The soldier pauses to gesture at the long street before turning to head over a footbridge. The Warrior follows, taking in the city, admiring its towering buildings and brightly colored banners that hang from walls that seem half ablaze in the rosy glow of sunset. The Warrior wonders when the last time Varis set foot in Kugane was, if he ever has, and wishes that he were here now.

Perhaps some other time, she thinks.

“We are headquartered in the southern end of the port,” the soldier says. “They call it the Ijin District. You might hear that word thrown at you now and then, it just means ‘foreigner’. Don’t mind the savages here, they don’t mean any harm but they’ll talk your ear off before giving you an actual answer to a question.”

They cross the bridge and enter an area of the city that is of a noticeably different flavor from the rest of the port. The buildings here are of a style that is more reminiscent to those that she has seen on Aldenard and Ilsabard, covered in brick and neat rows of windows. Glancing between the closest of the fenced in yards, the Warrior can easily pick out which one belongs to Garlemald. The brick of the building is a dark gray, and someone has taken the time to add black metallic embellishments to the building. The fence that surrounds the yard is also accented with a stylized version of the Garlemald emblem.

“Representatives from various nations have their buildings around here. The East Aldenard trading company is back around the eastern corner there--” The soldier does not hide the word ‘savages’ in his tone, but the Warrior chooses not to be bothered by his disdain. “The building across the way here is the Thavnarian Consulate. They are a… curious lot, and we try not to interact with them more than necessary.” The soldier clears his throat and chirps out a cheerful “This way” as he continues to the main gate of the Garlean Consulate. The two guards there immediately salute and step aside.

The Warrior is aware of the curious head turns of the guards as she passes through the gates with the centurion in tow. The men have surely heard word of a special visitor coming from the capital, but it is likely that they were not expecting a young woman in adventurer’s garb. Knowing it best not to antagonize anyone needlessly on her journey, she manages to keep an amused smile from reaching her lips.

The interior of the consulate is quiet, and apparently occupied solely by Eastern garbed soldiers. The Warrior studies them as she treads the polished hardwood floor of the main hall. Are they of any particular legion, she wonders, or a separate unit? She knows that the Twelfth legion was until recently in charge of Doma, but does not know if their occupation included the consulate in Kugane.

“We’re not of the Twelfth, my Lady,” the soldier says when she asks. “Mercifully, we are of an independent cohort that exists solely for the purpose of running the consulate.”

“I see. Have you had much experience with the Twelfth?”

“Only in passing, when some of them have come through Kugane before taking a transport to join the rest of their legion in Gyr Abania.” The soldier shakes his head. “There is still a remainder of the legion in the Doman lands, as ordered by His Radiance. You’ll likely deal with them on your ventures here.”

“Ever have a run in with Prince Zenos?”

Her guide nearly misses his next step, and his posture stiffens as he corrects himself. “Just once, and that was more than enough. Fortunately, the sudden freeing of Doma greatly reduces the likelihood that the prince will have any cause to return.”

“Indeed. I suppose you should be grateful.”

She thinks back to her previous encounter with the crown prince. His entire being and bearing was geared toward intimidation, and his every movement a prelude to violence. The Warrior had been fearful of the prince at the time, and it seems that this is a universal reaction to the man. She wonders what, if anything, the prince himself might be fearful of.

The soldier explains the layout of the consulate while she thinks, though she scarcely pays attention to his words. Hopefully her guard is paying enough attention for the both of them. 

“Your things will be taken to your room,” the soldier says. “We have dinner prepared for you, if you would like to eat before turning in for the night?”

The Warrior blinks and smiles, glad for the change in subject. “Oh, yes, that would be quite nice, thank you.”

She supposes that she might have expected the kitchen to serve some variety of the local cuisine, but instead a servant brings out plates of the more hearty fare she has come to expect and enjoy from the Garleans. She eats her fill and is excused for the night.

Again the Warrior finds herself glad to be accompanied by her guard, as she has not paid enough attention to the soldier to have a real idea as to where the guest rooms are located. Gladly, Caspian has been attentive and leads the way. Hers is a somewhat secluded room up on the third floor of the building. The hallway is still and eerily quiet.

“I don’t suppose the consulate has all that many visitors these days,” she says as she hands her room key to the guard. They shrug.

“The briefings I was given stated that a few minor local dignitaries were in house, but none of them were of enough import to warrant a room up here.”

“Ah.” It was good to be the future empress, she muses. “Where will you sleep?”

“There is a servant’s quarters at the end of the hall. I will sleep there, so I will not be far away in case something should happen.”

She smiles. “Good. That’s a comfort.”

They reach the room intended for the Warrior. After unlocking the door, the centurion does a quick once-over of her quarters and gives her the all clear. They return the small cermet card that unlocks the door to her room.

“I will be out in the hall here if you need me,” they say.

“What, don’t you get a break? A chance to rest?” She waves down the hall. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

They shake their head. “I am on duty until you go to bed.”

She frowns. “The Emperor’s guards usually leave when he returns from his business in the evening.”

“They won’t while you’re away.” They gesture into the room. “It is safe.”

The Warrior puzzles over her guard’s words as she enters the room and lets the door fall shut behind her. Compared to the bright colors of the city outside, her room is a pleasantly drab thing done up in grays and white. It would almost pass as sterile in appearance, were it not for the occasional splash of imperial red and gold. Her luggage is at the foot of the bed, and her armor waits on a stand near the dressing table. She smiles at the familiar sight, though it seems a touch lonely not standing next to the Emperor’s armor. 

Surveying the remainder of the room, she notices a small black lacquered box on the dressing table. Inside is a linkpearl, its enameled surface a pearlescent silver. 

“Ah, yes.” She sits on the dressing table’s bench and places the linkpearl into her ear. After activating it, the line chimes four times before a familiar voice cries her name over the line.

“Are you alright?” Varis does little to conceal the worry in his voice “It is late.”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. It was dusk when we arrived in Kugane, and I ate dinner before coming to my room.” She removes her gloves and rests them on the table. “My dear emperor, you need not sound so worried.”

“I--just--” He falls silent. She can imagine the slight pout to his lips as he looks away from wherever she might normally be.

“Do you miss me so badly already?” The Warrior pulls off her boots and sets them aside. “I’ve scarcely been gone for ten bells.” She smiles at the embarrassed noise that comes through the line. 

“Do not make me out to be a pitiable fool.”

“Did you act like this when Regula was deployed on a mission?” He does not initially respond, and she thinks him being petulant until she hears the soft clink of silverware. “Are you eating dinner, love?”

“I found my appetite lacking without your conversation.”

The Warrior cannot help but burst out laughing at his admission. When she has recovered, she says: “I am not going to call you morning, mid, and night just so that you will eat your food. You aren’t a child, Varis zos Galvus.”

“Then, I might starve,” he says, before she hears another strike of metal against ceramic. She smiles.

“I will gladly call you in the evening to tell you of my adventures. So, you had better at least eat a hearty dinner.”

“Of course, my queen.” Varis sighs. “How were your travels? What of your guard?”

The Warrior spends the next quarter bell undressing and telling Varis of her afternoon. She can hear the soft sounds of him eating, his sips of coffee and the more muted sounds of him consuming a nearly ridiculous amount of mashed popotoes, as is ever his wont. She tells him of the boring flight, of trying to talk to her guard, and of the colorful sights of Kugane. She knows that he is listening, even though he makes no attempt to join in the conversation.

It is almost like being home.

Varis has finished his meal by the time she has completed her survey of the afternoon’s events. She has stripped down to her smallclothes, and flops on the big bed. The covers are soft, but the mattress is a bit hard.

“This bed is far too big for just me,” she says.

“Well, it would be inappropriate for the Emperor of Garlemald to show up in Kugane uninvited.”

“But the empress is acceptable?”

Varis coughs. “They do not know that yet.”

“Does my guard?” She looks to the door, and wonders if the centurion is still standing out in the hallway.

“They work in the palace,” he says. “It is entirely possible that they know. I ordered Julia and Annia to accidentally let the information slip while they were in the mess hall or training center.”

“You scoundrel.”

His chuckle is a relief to her ears. “I have not heard any reports yet of related rumors, so perhaps the palace guard is minding their tongues for once.”

“You could just cut off the rumor mill and make a public announcement.”

“What, and ruin all of their fun? On a good day, working at the palace is painfully dull.”

“Just wait until we have children. Then the guard will wish for tedium.”

Her quip is rewarded by the sound of Varis sputtering into his coffee.

She misses him.


End file.
